Fix Me
by griggles
Summary: Beca is an unemployed alcoholic who spends her days watching Boy Meets World reruns. When her father demands that she sees a therapist or lose his financial support, she meets a 24-year-old psychiatrist named Chloe Beale who may just be as messed up as she is.
1. Chapter 1

So I wanted to try my hand at something a bit more mature. No superheroes this time, it's gonna be a bit darker. It'll start at T, but if I decide to really delve into darker themes it'll go to M. Right now it's a very rough idea. I don't know what exactly this is going to be, but for now I think it's kind of a cool idea. Random question I'm hoping someone can answer in reviews though, how do we know Chloe's last name is Beale? I didn't hear it anywhere in the movie and it wasn't in the credits. Did we all just silently agree to this? Someone let me know in a review. Anyway, let me know what you think, you all know what a review whore I am. Enjoy!

* * *

Chloe's POV

"I just don't think it's working out Dr. Beale."

"Are you sure?"

I hated asking that question. It always ended the same way. They'd give me that look. The one where they aren't quite meeting my gaze. They're rubbing their arm, trying not to make it awkward. It wouldn't have to be, really. I've gotten used to this. Maybe a bit too used to it.

"Yea. It's just umm... well you know."

"Well if you think this is what's best then I don't blame you. You have our office number if you ever reconsider. Good luck with everything Craig."

There's something about this profession that makes getting fired so much worse. When you're an insurance salesman, or an engineer, a janitor, a teacher, a chef, a pirate or a singer, getting fired means you're just not very good at your job. But I'm a psychiatrist. Getting fired means I'm not a very good person. Well, not really, but that's how it feels anyway. There's a real helplessness in being unable to help people.

I've been fired by seven clients in the past four months. Not, "I'm healthy so there's no need to keep coming" fired, but "you aren't helping me and I'm sick of wasting my money" fired. It's a wonder that the practice hasn't gotten rid of me yet. It's amazing what graduating from med school at 22 can do for you I guess. Maybe I'm just their prize, the prodigy they can show off at conventions and functions. That, or Dr. Phillips really needs the eye candy.

I tell myself it's just a rough patch. I'm 24, I'm light-years ahead of where I should be. I'm light-years ahead of where _anyone_ should be. That's how I convince myself that it's alright. So I keep putting on my happy face, the one I perfected as a child, the one that felt natural when I was in college, the one that has slowly died over the past few years, and convince the world that it's how I really feel.

At least the drive home is nice. I, like the rest of Atlanta, tune into KLPX 97.5 FM for _Fat Amy in the Evening_, same as every night. She's funny enough, even if a bit... rough around the edges. Really, it's about the music. Most radio stations use this precious time slot to regurgitate top 40 hits. That's not really a concern to me, they're hits for a reason and some of them are quite good. I just like a bit of creativity in my music, and whoever the musical genius behind this show is certainly knows how push my buttons.

He hasn't put anything new out in a while. Not that I'm complaining too much, his old stuff is awesome. I guess he hit it big in LA and they're just taking their time to replace him. It's probably the smart move, he can't be easy to replace. He's one of the few things that actually gets me to smile again. Like I really mean it.

Aubrey's not home. _Thank God_ Aubrey's not home. I don't really want to deal with her judgement right now. So what if I want a glass of wine at 5:30? People drink after work. It's a common coping method, and it's not like I'm an alcoholic. It's just how I get through the day. I handle my stress with a glass of wine and Aubrey handles hers by letting it build up until she vomits. I keep telling her to get help for that.

"Posens don't speak to therapists," she constantly lectures, ignoring how much it belittles my profession, "Posens are strong. Posens are winners. Posens face their problems head on. We don't see on a couch and talk to a stranger about them."

Like the Beales are any better.

* * *

Beca's POV

I'm not the therapy type. Well... I'm not the anything type lately. I've spent the past three months drinking, watching TV, and... well... that's pretty much it.

My dad thinks I'm depressed. A moderate improvement from suicidal, but it's not exactly his place to judge. He wasn't there when I was a kid. He wasn't there when mom died. He wasn't there when I moved to Los Angeles.

He only really showed up when I came back. Not exactly like I had a choice, I failed miserably, and not just professionally. I would have stayed in Los Angeles a bit longer if I could've, but I'd run out of couches to sleep on. People were sick of buying me fast food. I can't really blame them. We weren't friends. I don't exactly have friends.

Well, other than Jesse. But that bridge burned three months ago. I don't know what convinced me to date the only friend I ever had. He just wanted it so badly. He kept saying it was destiny, that of all places we both ended up right back at home after high school. For a while I convinced myself he was right, so I put on the girlfriend face and did my best to play the part, but after a year of lies he just kind of accepted that my heart wasn't in it. That was when I stopped pretending.

That's when I stopped doing pretty much everything. I stopped working at the radio station despite Amy's practically hourly texts begging me to come back. I stopped acting social in the few social situations I was forced to attend. I stopped pretending I was a real person. I guilted my dad into paying my rent so I could "sort things out," and that's how I ended up here.

That's also when I stopped making music. What's the point? I'm no DJ, I'm an LA dropout with a macbook and personality disorder. I guess I just sort of assumed this would be my life now. Alcohol and _Boy Meets World_ reruns. Life well lived.

My dad had other ideas.

"This is ridiculous Beca. Look at how you're living. I've been supporting you like this for three months."

"So you still owe me 17 years and nine months."

"Stop acting like you're a child."

"Start acting like you have one."

"Beca I'm not dealing with this now. Do you know how much it's costing me to let you sit around this apartment and drink all day? I mean you're not even trying to fix yourself up. Do you have any idea what you're going to do with your life?"

"Frankly I don't see what's wrong with drinking."

"See, that's the problem! You're irresponsible, you're a grown woman who can't even perform basic human tasks. Did you realize that you haven't even thanked me for financing this pig stye? Not even a phone call."

"Trust me Warren you don't want to compare missed phone calls with me."

"What do I have to do to make you see that you should at least try to do something for yourself. Do I have to force you to go to college? Do I have to put my reputation on the line by providing a free education to my academically useless daughter? Because at this point I don't know what else to do with you."

"Right, because I'd go to college and make tons of friends and get straight A's. In fact I'm thinking about joining a sorority, any suggestions," I'm nearly shouting by this point. He knows I'm right. All he'd be doing by sending me to school is depriving someone a spot they rightfully deserved.

"Alright Beca, I'm giving you an ultimatum. And a very fair one at that."

"Go for it."

"If you want me to keep paying my rent, you have to start seeing a therapist. A therapist that I choose."

"Sit on a couch for an hour a week? Ok dad, I'm sure that'll fix me."

"I'm serious, and if I don't see some real progress from you then I'm gonna cut you off. I'm not gonna be a party to the destruction of my daughter's life anymore."

"A bit late for that one doc."

So that's how I ended up in this waiting room at noon on a Wednesday morning. I feel like I should have at least had the right to schedule this myself. Maybe he's trying to fix my sleep schedule. Whatever, it's not like I won't be back in bed in an hour and a half.

"Ok Ms. Mitchell, Dr. Beale will see you now, third door to your right down the hallway.

"Thank you."

I tried to drag the walk out as long as possible. I know it's petty and immature, but I only have an hour so if I can spend it doing something other than therapy I might as well give it a shot. I take a deep breath before walking through the door. Maybe I was kind of nervous, it's not like I knew what to expect.

"Hi! I'm Dr. Chloe Beale, and you must be Beca Mitchell."

I'm not even sure what I'm looking at here. I wasn't aware that there were people who looked like... this. The red hair cascading down off of her head meshed so perfectly with those blue-as-the-sky eyes. Her makeup was limited and she was dressed casually in a cardigan and jeans, but somehow it just feels... right. I'm fairly certain that this is the next step in human evolution. I don't even care if she thinks I'm staring. Wait... I don't stare.

"Yea... that's what they tell me."

"I'm actually really excited to meet you, your dad was one of my teachers at Barden and he was just amazing. I love him!"

"Well that makes one of us," I grumble. Shit, did I just give her an opening?

"Well somebody's eager to get started, why don't we jump in there?"

"I'm actually gonna pass."

"Ok then, that's totally natural. It's tough to start on something so big before we've developed any kind of trust, so why don't you start by just telling me a little bit about yourself."

She put her hand on my knee. Why did she put her hand on my knee? God it's going to be really hard to hate this woman if she keeps this up. The weirdest thing is that it doesn't even bother me. She has this pure way about her, like it's all totally innocent. She's touching me because it's natural to her and for whatever reason thinks I'm the kind of person who would find it comforting. I hate that I don't hate this.

"No, I mean I'm actually going to pass on this whole thing."

"What do you mean?"

"Well I'm gonna go ahead and guess that my dad filled you in on why I'm here and that I don't exactly have a choice in the matter."

"Well he wasn't specific but he did mention that this was his idea and he asked me to let him know how you're doing."

"Yea, well the thing is I'm personally of the belief that therapy is useless if the patient isn't interested."

"I actually agree with you."

I could tell she didn't by the way she's looking at me, even if she doesn't quite realize it herself.

"I'm serious, people are dense. They can't be helped if they don't accept that they need it. Thing is, most people come into therapy with just that attitude. You'd be surprised how many breakthroughs occur after years and years of denial. So all I'm asking is that you give me a chance, and maybe I can help fix whatever it is that has you sitting in my office at noon on a Wednesday."

Saying no to this girl is harder than I thought it would be. Maybe dad knew that all along. Maybe he sent me here because she's so damn likable. And suddenly, I had my hatred back.

"Well here's the thing, if this were on your own accord I think I might agree with you, but my dad is the kind of person who has some sort of anti-Beca plan behind everything he does, so I'm gonna go ahead and assume that there's something involved here that he's not telling me. So what I'm gonna do is reach into my bag and take out my headphones and iPod and listen to music for the rest of the hour. What you do with that time is entirely up to you, if you want to take an early lunch that's your business. You get paid either way, all you have to do is tell my dad I'm making progress. Does that seem fair to you?"

Why does she keep looking at me like that? It's almost like she really thinks she's gonna convince me otherwise.

"I'll tell you what Beca, we can compromise. I won't push you if you're not ready to talk to me yet, so all that I ask is that instead of listening to music with headphones on-," she rustled through her bag for a laptop, "you play music off of my iTunes account and listen headphone-free. That's all I ask."

"What's the catch?"

"No catch. That's all you have to do for the next hour. If you agree I'll tell your dad whatever you want. Seriously, if you want me to tell him that in my professional opinion I think it'd be best for him to never see you again but give you a blank check at the end of every month I'll do it. Whatever you want."

"There has to be a catch here, you're plotting something."

"That makes it sound so devious," she winked, "just think of it as the first step of your healing process."

"And you'll tell him whatever I want?"

"Whatever you want."

"And you won't take any notes on that yellow legal pad you have or make me lie down on this couch or ask me how I feel?"

"Beca therapy isn't a Woody Allen movie, but no, I won't do any of those things."

"Ok, well if you're really on board with this who am I to say no."

* * *

Chloe's POV

There's something so familiar about Beca. It couldn't have related to Dr. Mitchell. They were just too different, he was always the life of the party, the most jovial and energetic professor Barden had to offer. She was darker, more introverted. I couldn't tell if she simply needed to be coaxed out of her shell or really wasn't interested in social interaction. There was something about her voice, something that I've definitely heard before. It felt fractured to be sure, like a distorted version of something I'd once loved. I just couldn't put my finger on what it was.

There was more. There was a wisdom in her eyes, an understanding of something I was apparently missing. It was as if we were on entirely different mental planes. At the same time, there was an obvious longing. Something was... missing. I couldn't help but feel a twinge of camaraderie with her. Deep down, it almost felt like we were kindred spirits. Searching for the same thing in entirely different ways.

The way her body lit up when the music started playing was nearly indescribable. It was as if suddenly things made sense to her. She could fall into the music and let it engulf her completely. She wouldn't dare smile for risk that I might see it, but her body language was notably different. Occasionally I'd notice something small like her head bopping along to the beat. The girl who acted so empty and disinterested just a few minutes ago was an entirely different person.

I could tell that, even if she wouldn't admit it, she was enjoying herself. I don't know how much credit I can take for it, but someday I'll ask. When she's ready, of course.

"Well, that's an hour."

Beca looked so cute jumping out of her daze. She glanced at her phone to confirm it.

"Wow, you really took up the whole hour? Two extra minutes even. I'm sure you could have found a better use for your time."

"I don't have any regrets. So I'll see you next week?"

"I guess, just tell my dad we had a good first session but these things take take."

"Sounds good to me. Goodbye Beca."

I'm not quite sure what possessed me to hug her. It was wildly inappropriate considering how early on we were in her treatment. I guess I just felt a certain comfort with her, one I hoped she shared even if it was unrealistic. To her credit she didn't lash out at me. She just gave me a look that was an odd mix of quizzical and defensive. No words were exchanged as she scurried away.

* * *

"Well that's a sight for sore eyes," Aubrey commented with a smile.

"What?"

"Your smile. You've had this goofy grin on your face for the past 10 minutes. Haven't said anything either, like you're lost in thought. It's nice to see you smile again."

"Oh... thanks."

"So what's up?"

"I just... I have this new patient. I'm kind of excited about her."

"How is it possible to be excited about a psychiatric patient?"

"She's just... interesting I guess. I think I can really help her."

"Well apparently she's helped you. It's nice to see you like this Chloe, it's definitely been awhile."

It was true. I don't even remember the last time I'd been excited about work. I don't know if I ever was.

"Thanks Aubrey. I know I haven't been... great... lately. It means a lot to have a friend like you."

"Anytime. Besides, remember what a nervous wreck I was back in college? God the Bellas hated me, without you I might have driven them off of a cliff."

"Oh come on you weren't THAT bad."

"I was horrible and you know it. You really helped me through it. It's nice to see that Chloe again. I hope she's here to stay."

"Me too."

* * *

Beca's POV

Why the hell do I even leave my phone on? What is the potential benefit? All it serves to do is interrupt my drinking. It's not like I have anyone I want to call. I suppose I could keep letting it buzz, but if my dad's the one calling that's gonna be a long wait. Might as well give him 45 seconds now to save myself an hour of ringing later.

"What?"

"Hi Beca, I just wanted to see how your first day of therapy went."

"Fine."

"Did you like Dr. Beale?"

"She's... nice."

"She's one of the finest students I've ever had. Did I mention she was only 16 when I taught her? Still graduated at the top of her class, and such a lovely girl too. I knew you two would connect."

"So what did she tell you?"

"She said you made excellent progress for a first session, but naturally these things take time. I'm happy for you Beca, I think this is the first step towards a new life."

"Yea, yea. Anyway I have things to do. I have to go."

"Ok, bye Beca. I love you."

"Bye."

I glanced over at the table next to the couch. My glass was empty, time for a refill. The cupboard was fully stocked as always. I wouldn't dare risk running out of liquor. Let's see, vodka, scotch, good old wine. Plenty to choose from here. So why couldn't I bring myself to fill up my glass?

_"I knew you two would connect."_

Great, she's in my head. I know it's irrational, but it almost feels like she's watching me. Like she'd disapprove of this, and for whatever reason I don't want to disappoint her. Even if that's all I did today. And all I'll keep doing going forward. Whatever. I guess a night without drinking won't kill me.


	2. Chapter 2

Come on people you know what a review whore I am! Come on do I need to message all of you individually? Let's do this people!

* * *

Chloe's POV

She didn't want to talk today either. Not that I was surprised, she's not exactly amenable to what I'm offering, but she still has this ridiculous notion that it's gonna last forever. People like to talk to me. People like to be around me. It's my gift, one I've spent years honing and perfecting.

Personality isn't a luxury when you're nine years old and are told that you will be skipping a grade. Again. It's a necessity. One of the perks of being gifted I suppose. If I wasn't the most charming, lovable, perfect girl I could possibly be nobody would let me invade their tightly knit cliques.

Eventually it became second nature to me. I could befriend anyone because for years I made it my business to befriend everyone. Well, anyone that would have me, but when you're 20% younger than the people in your class you'll take what you can get.

It's a nifty trick, one Beca clearly never developed. But that's ok, I guess personality is an unnecessary luxury when you spend your days drinking and watching TV. That obviously wasn't all there was to her. In fact I was convinced that there was a quite a bit more, but that doesn't mean I suspected her of ever being a social butterfly.

She's not giving me much, but I can tell she's enjoying our second session a bit more than the first. They'd be invisible to the naked eye, but she has a couple of tells. She'll actually make eye contact with me every few minutes. She'll also allow herself a few fleeting smiles before remembering that I'm sitting here, soaking it all in. There's something so much more gratifying about having to earn a smile. I wonder if she realizes how little she has to do to earn one of mine.

It's ok if she doesn't. Therapy is a one-way street. They tell you that on day one. My emotions, my problems, they all go out the window the moment I walk into this office. They say it compromises the relationship when a patient knows that the therapist is just as flawed as they are. I think they're just trying to protect their egos. There are few emotions stronger than empathy, especially when you're trying to make someone feel anything at all.

Besides, I'm not even sure what it is about this girl that has me so intrigued. Sure, she seems plenty smart and has a biting wit (revealed only through our casual chitchat as I set up my computer), but I come from a world where everyone is smart and humor is fairly common among such a community. Maybe I like that she's making me earn it, because nobody else ever does. Anything that requires this much work must have a pretty nice payoff.

I can't say I dislike her musical taste either. Every now and then she'll jump onto the internet and play something that I invariably enjoy. She goes for combinations of songs and beats that I never would have considered. Not that it's something that I think about, I haven't seriously dabbled in music since college and even then I sang a capella, I wasn't a DJ.

There's a real genuineness behind this girl. She doesn't talk because she doesn't think there's anything I need to hear. She'll let me in when she thinks I'm worth it. Until then, I'm content to sit here and wait.

"Well, that's our time."

"What? Oh, uh," Beca glanced at her phone, "wow an extra seven minutes?"

"Yea I guess I just lost track of the time. So I'll see you next week?"

"Yea, um hey, could you maybe ask my dad not to call me and ask about this?"

"Yea ok, why?"

"No reason, I just don't want to talk to him."

"Well, a deal's a deal."

I hugged her again. It was definitely the wrong thing to do, but hey, it's the little things. I'm a hugger when there's somebody worth hugging. Besides, Beca looked like she could use a good hug.

"So... do you do that with all of your clients?"

"Yea of course!" I lie. I don't want her to think I'm weird. "Sorry Beca, guess you're not that special after all," I joke, knowing it'll make her more comfortable.

"Drat," she snaps her finger, coaxing a laugh out of me, "well, I guess I'll see you next week."

"Have a nice week Beca."

True to my word, I decide to call Dr. Mitchell now and get it over with.

"Hi Dr. Mitchell."

"Chloe! Please, you know you can call me Warren."

"Sorry, um, Warren. So I just met with Beca."

"Really? How's it going?"

"Well, it's going really well actually. I just have a request for you."

"Sure, just name it."

"I think she needs a bit of space."

"What exactly do you mean?"

"Oh nothing too horrible, it's not like she never wants to speak to you again. This is my idea. We started to touch on some things involving you and I think it's for the best that we let her confront them on her own, at her own pace."

"Well if you think that's best. Just please let me know how my daughter is doing. You'll still update me won't you?"

"Of course, and believe me this won't be a permanent thing. Obviously these things take time, but I think we'll really be able to make some progress. She's a very interesting girl, I've actually really enjoyed getting to know her."

"That's good to hear. I knew I could count on you with this Chloe. Just please, do whatever you can to help my daughter."

"Of course, I'll talk to you next week."

"Have a nice day Chloe."

I feel bad lying to him like this. Well, it's not exactly a lie. I believe we will make progress eventually, and I have enjoyed having her around. He deserves to know the truth. I can't speak for whatever skeletons those two have in the closet, but for now he seems like a caring father.

* * *

Beca's POV

_"Meet my eye line Jim!"_

_"I am."_

_"Stop acting like an idiot!"_

Watching _The Office_ sober. This is... new. I guess it's become a bit of a tradition. Sober Wednesdays! God that would be the worst frat event ever. Well, it would be if they weren't motivated by that greek goddess of a psychiatrist. This isn't fair. When I think about her I can't function properly. Or maybe I function too properly, I stop drinking and actually feel a bit of remorse for what an ass I am around her.

What is it about her that has me so... entranced. Sure she's beautiful, but there are a lot of beautiful people out there. Jesse wasn't exactly bad looking, but he never had me feeling guilty for being me. Though lord knows he tried towards the end. Besides she's a therapist, not a prostitute. It's not like I could ever act on her beauty, it's just an aesthetically pleasing bonus. I'm sure all of her patients get flustered around her.

Maybe it's that she's just so... genuine. In even the littlest ways. When she pats my knee or hugs me or even flashes one of those power surge-inducing smiles it's like she's doing it because she really thinks it'll comfort me. Maybe it's the fact that when she does those things they almost do.

It's sickening. I don't think this way about people. I brood, I sit alone in the darkness, I'm like the unsuccessful, alcoholic female version of Batman. I almost want to scream when she looks at me because it just feels so unfamiliar. Like she's staring into something I didn't know was there.

Why is my phone buzzing? Chloe told my dad to stop calling didn't she? God, did she lie to me? At the risk of stereotyping she seemed like the type who was allergic to lying. Nope, it's Amy.

"What do you want Amy?"

"_Baby come back, you can blame it all on me,_" Amy wasn't naturally a horrendous singer, which is why I nearly incoherent screeching confused me. I guess this was intentional, maybe it was the point, trying to appeal to my sense of humor.

"How many times have we had this conversation Amy? I'm not interested."

"Come on Beca please? You're like the best DJ this side of Sydney! Do you know how many complaints we get about our failure to release more of your mixes? We keep telling them it's impossible to release something we don't have, they keep saying that's not their problem. One of them even threatened to kidnap you and force you to mix for them all day and night!"

"That was you, wasn't it?"

"... That's besides the point. Please Beca, do it for your loyal listeners who are hanging on every word of this."

Hanging on every word? Wait was this-

"ARE WE LIVE RIGHT NOW? ARE YOU KIDDING ME?"

"Wait Beca what's wrong?"

"YOU'RE PUTTING ME ON THE SPOT IN FRONT OF ALL OF THESE PEOPLE! GOD AMY YOU KNOW I DON'T LIKE BEING ON LIVE! AND YOU DIDN'T EVEN ASK ME! UGH GOODBYE!"

I wish it were possible to slam a cellphone. If I had any liquor in me I would have done it just for the dramatic affect. Where the hell does she get off? Putting me live on the radio like that. It's not like I would have considered her offer otherwise, but it was just a classless thing to do. Not that I should expect any less from Amy. Or anyone for that matter. People kind of suck.

* * *

Chloe's POV

The down side to having an interesting patient is that it really shines a light on how uninteresting your other patients are. As complicated as people make therapy seem, it really comes down to a few issues with most patients. Someone wants a divorce with someone else, someone didn't love someone enough, someone beat someone up in high school, pretty run of the mill stuff. You get used to dealing with those types of things.

"Dr. Beale?"

Crap I didn't hear a word he said.

"Yes Jerry?"

"So do you think I should give her another chance?"

Time to pull something out of my ass.

"You know what Jerry that's a really complicated issue. Let's run it over again and maybe you'll see for yourself.

"Ok."

I zoned out almost as quickly as he started talking. I'm a horrible psychiatrist aren't I? Crap is he already almost done?"

"So that's what happened, and honestly Dr. Beale I just don't know if I could ever trust her again you know?"

The great thing about this job is that there are a few key words and phrases that can get you out of anything. It's much more of a cookie cutter industry than you would be led to believe.

"Well Jerry, trust is a fragile thing. Once it's broken it's hard to put back together. But ultimately this has to be your decision. If you let someone else convince you of what to do you're never fully gonna believe in it yourself. If you really don't think you can trust her and that the marriage is broken beyond repair it would be best for both of you to be civil and end it now. If you think there's a chance this can be fixed you have to go for it, because even if it doesn't seem like it now you two really do love each other."

Point, Chloe.

"Thanks Dr. Beale, that's good advice."

"Well that's what they pay me for," I wink playfully, "but you know you can call me Chloe. In fact I prefer it. Anyway that's about an hour, so I'll see you next week!"

"Thanks again Chloe."

Finally, time to head home. I don't think I could handle another patient today. Time to listen to Fat Amy. Maybe that'll get my mind off of this.

"_Baby come back, you can blame it all on me,_"

She's singing. Horribly. Why?

"How many times have we had this conversation Amy? I'm not interested."

Wait, is that Beca? Why would Beca be on the radio? Did she and Amy used to date?

"Come on Beca please? You're like the best DJ this side of Sydney! Do you know how many complaints we get about our failure to release more of your mixes? We keep telling them it's impossible to release something we don't have, they keep saying that's not their problem. One of them even threatened to kidnap you and force you to mix for them all day and night!"

Wait, Beca is the DJ? _The_ DJ? Holy- but why would she- I mean she's so- what is going on? And she's screaming? Why is she screaming?

"YOU'RE PUTTING ME ON THE SPOT IN FRONT OF ALL OF THESE PEOPLE! GOD AMY YOU KNOW I DON'T LIKE BEING ON LIVE! AND YOU DIDN'T EVEN ASK ME! UGH GOODBYE!"

I guess I see what's wrong with that, but that kind of escalated quickly. Besides, that's not my main concern at the moment. The savant who charters my daily flights to musical heaven is Beca Mitchell, the girl who sits in my office and refuses to even speak to me? Well, this should make for some interesting conversation when she decides to open up. Still, I can barely contain my excitement, I have to tell somebody about this!

"Aubrey she's the DJ!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Aubrey, she's _the_ DJ."

"Yes Chloe I heard you the first time, I meant I could use some context."

To be fair I had a tendency to do that when I got excited.

"Sorry, so remember that patient I was telling you about?"

"The one who wouldn't speak to you?"

"Yea that's the one, she's the DJ. _The_ DJ. The one from KLPX who destroys everything and everyone in the musical world that has ever existed?"

"I mean we disagree on her level of talent but I know who you're talking about."

"Aubrey this is incredible! I actually get to see her! I get to talk to her about her work!"

"Chloe remember, you're her doctor, not her groupie."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm just saying you need to act professionally. Do your job."

"Who says I can't admire her work and still give her top notch psychiatric care?"

"Just try to keep your priorities in order. You know how you get around great musicians."

"I tried to make out with Prince ONE TIME! You're never gonna let that go are you?"

"I'm just saying her profession should be inconsequential to you. Your job is to treat her. Focus on that. Then maybe afterwards you can go become best friends and talk about your weird alternative music for as long as you want."

I knew she was right. Beca is my patient, I can't exactly sit around asking her about her music while she pays me to help her. But that doesn't mean I can't incorporate her music into her treatment.

"By the way, your dad called me earlier today."

Crap.

"Really? Why?"

"Something about work and needing to talk to you."

"Of course."

"You can avoid him you know. Chloe you're 24, you don't have to keep answering to him."

"Aubrey that ship sailed a long time ago. I guess I'll just hold out as long as I can, maybe I can squeeze another week of peace out of this before he takes another couple of whacks at my self esteem."

* * *

Beca's POV

I wonder if I even have to go to therapy today. Chloe- err, Dr. Beale- gave me her word that my dad wouldn't be calling me. He'd held up his end of the bargain, maybe she'd let one week slide.

What am I even complaining about? It's an hour of listening to music on a moderately comfortable couch. Maybe it's the way she looks at me. So... hopefully. Like she's convinced I'm gonna crack any day now and she'll be right there to pick up the pieces. Truth is, if I'm not careful that's exactly what's gonna happen. She's hard to push away. It's those eyes.

One hour. I have 167 more to recover after that. I can do this. I'll be fine. Well... as fine as someone like me can get.

"Beca!"

I turn around and whad'ya know, she's beaming at me brightly as ever.

"Hi Dr. Beale."

"Please, call me Chloe. Dr. Beale makes me sound like I'm some uptight snob on Grey's Anatomy."

"So you're telling me you don't have all nine seasons of Grey's on DVD sitting on your coffee table at home?"

"... That's beside the point. And look at you knowing how many seasons there are! I wouldn't have pegged you for a fan."

I shrug. She already has me making small talk. How am I gonna make it through the hour?

"I watch a lot of TV."

"Anyway, I want to try something slightly different today."

"What? We had a deal remember."

"Relax Beca it's just a very slight change. Today I get to control the music. Oh don't give me that look, you've seen my iTunes account, you know I have good taste. In fact I made a special playlist for just this occasion."

She directs my attention to a playlist with 15 songs, each of them titled only by number.

"I didn't want you thinking ahead, let's just take this one song at a time."

"Well you're the doctor."

From there we settled into our usual routine. The music plays, I try to relax, she stares. God does she understand how blatant her staring is? If we were anywhere else I'd have a real right to get upset. I guess it's her job, and I did technically agree to this. That doesn't mean I can't notice how she's trying really hard to mask a smile. She's definitely up to something.

The music isn't bad though. There have been some pretty interesting mixes on this playlist, but she's really enhanced them by separating them by placing untouched songs in between them. I have to say I'm mildly impressed. At the very least this girl knows her music.

About 45 minutes in we're interrupted by her secretary.

"Excuse me, Chloe?"

"Yes?"

"Your father is on line one. He says it's urgent."

"Of course it is," she mumbles, "did you tell him I was with a patient?"

"Yes, and he says he doesn't care."

"Ok, tell him I'll call him back on my cellphone from the balcony, I'd like a bit of privacy. And Beca, keep the music playing."

"Ok."

I can't help but feel a pang of jealousy as she goes out onto the balcony. This is supposed to be my time, and even if I'm not using it I believe I'm entitled to her presence. Whatever, it's not like people have ever valued my time. Or presence for that matter. And by the way, what therapist has a balcony in their office? And it's not exactly granting her the privacy she wanted, I can hear every word she's saying.

"Hello father. No sir, I have not been ignoring you. No sir, I was not aware that you spoke with Dr. Phillips. Yes sir, I do know that it is unacceptable. Yes sir, I promise I will improve."

Wow, he must really be reaming her out.

"Yes sir, I understand. Yes sir, you have my word. Goodbye father."

She walks back into the room flustered. Her eyes are damp but she's in control, forcing the tears to wait.

"Sorry about that."

I nod and grunt out an "mhm," still somewhat annoyed that she left in the first place. Her look is different now. There's more... need. Almost desperation. Like she can't wait around for me any longer. Not professionally, but personally. She desperately wants to hear me say something, anything.

"God will you stop looking at me like that!"

"Like what?" She asks, genuinely confused.

"Like I just kicked your puppy and you're expecting an explanation or an apology! Those damn Disney Princess eyes are too much!"

She averts her eyes to the floor. She only lets out a soft "oh." I can tell that I've gone too far. She looks like she might actually cry. Crap. I need to do something.

"Sorry," she raises her gaze to meet mine, "that wasn't cool."

"It's ok," she chokes out.

"No, it really wasn't. It was mean and I shouldn't have snapped at you like that."

I can see her start to smile a bit. Good. She just doesn't look right when she's sad. Normally I'd worry that this was just some tactic of hers, some way to get me to express something. But that's not her.

Suddenly a new mix comes over the speakers. It took me a moment to sense the familiarity.

"Is this one of mine?"

"Yea."

"But how did you-"

"I heard you on the radio last week. Well, I've been hearing you on the radio for a while, but I didn't know who it was until then. You work pretty hard keeping yourself a secret don't you?"

I nod solemnly.

"You're really good Beca. I mean _really_ good. When I hear your music... things just feel... better. If nothing else, I'm glad I got to meet you."

"Thank you. I feel the same way about you."

What did I just say? Did that actually just happen? It certainly wasn't intentional, it just sort of... came out. I have to say something... anything.

"So... I never had you pegged as a _Titanium_ type of girl."

"Have I been living under a rock? That song is my jam." I could tell there was more she wanted to say. Something on the tip of her tongue that she didn't quite feel comfortable revealing. That's ok, it's not like she owes me honesty.

"Can you sing it for me?"

"What? What makes you think I can sing?"

"Just a hunch. Please?"

"Alright," I sigh. I just can't say no to this girl now.

"_I'm bulletproof, nothing to lose_

_Fire Away, fire away._"

She joins in.

"_Ricochet, you take your aim_

_Fire Away, fire away._"

Her voice is incredible. It's smooth, refined even if a bit rusty. She avoids the higher notes but still manages to maintain the tone of the song

"_You shoot me down, but I won't fall_

_I am titanium_

_You shoot me down, but I won't fall_

_I am titanium._"

Her smile is infectious. I can't even keep myself from cracking a small one. The moment is only interrupted by a sudden opening of the door. A young, well built brunette man sticks his head inside.

"You have a lovely voice."

"Thanks," I say a bit too bitingly. This is a therapy appointment, try some boundaries dude. Then I realized the music had stopped. The playlist was over.

"Well, that's the hour."

I quickly check my phone.

"What only 60 minutes today? I can't help but feel a little insulted."

"Look at it this way, I'm keeping you on your toes."

"I'll have to keep an eye on you Beale."

She makes the "I'm watching you" motion with her fingers and laughs. Conversation comes so easily with her when I actually let it.

* * *

Chloe's POV

"You're doing it again."

"Doing what?" I ask innocently enough.

"Humming. It goes nicely with the smile. I take it you had a good day?"

"I really did. Remember how you told me not to talk about music with my patient?"

"Well just because I told you doesn't mean you listened."

"And it's a good thing I didn't! We sang together."

"You what?"

"We sang. It just sort of happened, and it was the most open and vulnerable I've ever seen her."

"Well... yea, I get that, but you sang? I haven't heard you sing in... wow, it's been a while."

"Well I couldn't pass up the opportunity considering who I was with."

"How did you even know she could sing? You said she was a DJ."

"Remember how I told you her voice sounded kind of familiar? Well... I think she sang backup on some of the songs she mixed. And I was right. I figured if I could get her to sing with me she might actually start to feel comfortable around me. I think she's starting to trust me, even if it came under admittedly odd circumstances."

A conflicted look crossed Aubrey's face.

"Is something wrong?"

"It's just... are you sure you made her sing... for her?"

"What?"

"I'm just saying... the line is getting pretty blurry. You smile after you see her. She gets you to sing. I'm just concerned for you, that's all."

"Aubrey, I'm a professional, you don't have to worry about me. Isn't it enough that I'm enjoying work for a change?"

"I guess. Just... be careful."

"Don't worry Aubrey, I will."

I wasn't lying. I am a professional, and as much as Beca may intrigue me I know the line. She's a patient, and that's all she can ever be.


	3. Chapter 3

I'm gonna keep badgering you guys for reviews. It's what I do. To those of you who are doing it, you're awesome. Keep it up. To those of you who aren't, come on it takes 20 seconds! Anyway, here's chapter three. Enjoy!

* * *

Chloe's POV

_"Are you feeling better today Mommy?"_

_"I am now that you're here baby."_

_I smile brightly. Mom has a way of making me do that even as she lies nearly motionless in her hospital bed._

_"Do you want me to sing for you?"_

_"I would love that Chloe."_

_"You are my sunshine,_

_My only sunshine."_

_Mom joins in as best she can. This is our song. The song she sings to me when I'm sick. The song she sings when I'm sad. It will always be our song. _

_"You make me happy_

_When skies are grey_

_You'll never know dear_

_How much I love you_

_So please_

_Don't take my sunshine_

_Away."_

_"I love you baby, and all I ever want is for you to be happy. Don't ever forget that."_

_"I won't mommy."_

_That was the last time I ever heard her voice._

Suddenly I shot awake. It was a dream. A common dream at that. My mom passed away when I was six. Breast cancer. I don't have many memories of her, other than that she was the most loving, caring mother a girl could ask for. The polar opposite of my dad. I'll never understand what brought them together.

I try not to think about it much. The mother I never got to know. It's a good thing I don't, I doubt she'd approve of the person I've become. She wanted me to be happy, a notion that grew more and more foreign as the years went by. The dream has always felt like her little reminder. Her way of keeping me honest and showing me of what really matters. I used to make grand gestures when it happened.

In my sophomore year of high school I kissed Bobby Nicks in homeroom the very next morning. It was something I'd wanted to do for a while but never had the courage. Mom gave me the strength. And even when he stood up and ran out of the room (eventually revealing to me that he was gay) I never regretted the decision. She got me to live my life on my own terms. As I've gotten older life has just gotten in the way. What would be my grand gesture now?

Nowadays it serves as my reminder to visit her. So even though it's pouring outside and even though there isn't a single soul in this cemetery, I'm standing in front of an old headstone with nothing in hand but a single rose. I looked down disappointedly to see absolutely nothing. I had at least hoped for the withering remains of the flower I brought upon my last visit, but I guess that would be overly optimistic considering the timeframe. My dad, my brothers, my grandparents, nobody had been here in quite some time.

That was what hurt the most. I would have given anything for someone to accompany me here. Not because I needed the strength, mom gave me plenty, but because deep down I needed to know that somebody else, _anybody_ else really cared. If not for her then for me. I suppose I could ask Aubrey, but it just wouldn't be the same.

"Hi mom. I know it's been awhile. Gosh... maybe five months now. I'm guessing dad and Blair and Jacob haven't been around for a while. That's ok, I'm sure it's just... hard... for them. They send their love. So... it hasn't been the easiest few months. Work is getting harder. I guess my patients don't see me like you did. Like you do. A few patients have stopped seeing me, and Dr. Phillips told dad that I haven't been performing as well as I need to. I'm sure he's just concerned for me and the patients. I just haven't been on top of my game. But I think I'm getting better. There's this one patient I've really enjoyed seeing. I think you'd like her. She's not as affectionate as you are, but she's a musician. When I hear her music it's like the world stops turning. And when she sings? It's almost like it's really you inhabiting her body. Anyway, it's been really nice talking to you mom. I promise to start coming by more often. I miss you. I always have, I guess I just don't say it often enough. I love you mom."

I let a few tears escape my eyes before regaining my composure. Who's gonna notice in this weather? And so what if they did, it's a cemetery I'm entitled to a bit of emotion. I guess that's the bonus of not coming here with dad.

* * *

Beca's POV

My alarm clock blared. Not that I needed it, it's not like I slept. Today was going to be the ultimate test of Chloe's ability to keep me sober. It was hardly a fair fight, but neither was our first metaphorical bout and she actually got me to sing. Still, the Vegas oddsmakers heavily favor me getting plastered tonight. March 3rd, the day my mom died.

It's no dramatic story. She didn't throw herself in front of a bullet intended for me, nor did I swear vengeance in the pouring rain. She woke up on a weekday morning, left me a bowl of cereal on the counter and then went to work. She never came home. Supposedly it was a massive heart attack. Makes sense, lord knows I gave her plenty to stress over.

My dad left when I was a kid. Aside from the occasional card he was largely absent from my life past the age of nine. My mom was all I had. I was all she had. I wish that would have meant more to me.

She wasn't perfect by any stretch. She shouted and cursed, she worked long hours and dated a bit more than I would have liked. But she tried, she wanted to be a good parent to me even if I never totally reciprocated the sentiment. I guess I just sort of shut myself out after the divorce. I couldn't have been very easy to live with, but she was never too busy to ask me about my day or take care of me when I was sick. I owe her a lot. I wish I could have told her that. I wish I could have just let my guard down for a moment and thank her for at least caring enough to try. And now she's just gone. I'll never get the chance to tell her what she means to me.

The wait for my appointment is maddening. Nothing is more dangerous to the mind than spare time. Holding myself together today was hard enough, did this have to take so damn long. I glance at my phone. Seven more minutes. What possessed me to drive here so early? I'm not early for anything. I pull out my phone again. Still seven minutes. I'm starting to get antsy. My foot is tapping, a bead of sweat falls down my forehead.

"Beca!"

Thank god.

"So what's on the agenda today doc?"

"I keep telling you, call me Chloe," she says with one of _those_ smiles, "anyway, after our little jam session last week I was sort of hoping we could talk this week."

She obviously senses my defensive look. She's a therapist, she's trained to see these things.

"It doesn't have to be about anything serious. I'd just kind of like to start getting to know you. We can talk about music if you want. Or TV. Or the best Thai restaurants in Portland for all I care."

"Do I give off some kind of Portland vibe that led you to assume that was something I'd be interested in?"

"Well the flannel obviously doesn't help your case," she laughs as she quickly takes hold of and releases my sleeve, "but no. It just came to mind. We don't have to talk if you want, we can go back to listening to music, I just thought it might be nice. Please?"

My natural reaction is to object. To tell her we're just going to go back to her old routine of listening to music. But on some level I think I wanted to talk to her. Not about anything serious, I just wanted to... talk. I could definitely use someone to talk to today.

"Ok."

"Great! So... jaguars or leopards?"

* * *

Beca's POV

"Well, Thai-Dye has the highest Yelp rating."

"Listen to that name though! That's the most Americanized Thai place in the entire city and you know it," I argue passionately.

"And what's wrong with Americanized Thai? I happen to like Americanized Thai."

"Well yea, I do too under certain circumstances, but we're talking about the _best_ Thai restaurant in Portland. We'd be permanently banned from Thailand if we actually chose a place like that."

"Ok first of all, do you think the Thai government has spies stationed throughout the country to report back on any discussions involving their restaurants?"

"How do you know I'm not one and this whole conversation hasn't been a trick to get you to admit what our advance agents have suspected for years: that you are an unworthy Thai eater?"

"Well I know you wouldn't be mean enough to turn me in like that," Chloe jokingly pouts.

"Damn, you're right."

"And second of all, are we ever planning on going to Thailand? Because it wasn't in my immediate future, so unless we're planning a joint vacation there I think I could live with being banned."

We both laugh. Conversation comes so easily to her. And to everyone around her for that matter. For the past 40 minutes we've discussed everything from the inevitable robot uprising to, and I still don't know how we got on this, the best Thai restaurants in Portland. It's like she's been trained in the art of small talk. Not a hair falls out of place, she hits her cues perfectly, knows when to give me a playful touch and has the most enchanting laugh I've ever heard. Wait, did I just use the word enchanting?

"So, tell me, how do you plan on recovering from your first talkative therapy session? Any plans for the night?"

And there goes the mood.

"Not really. I'll probably just stay home, have a drink, watch whatever drek VH1 craps out. The usual I suppose"

She studies me for a moment. Not with her usual stare, but a more casual, laid back glance. Her smile fades after mine as if she's attached to some sort of empathy machine.

"Well, if it's any consolation," she says with a pat on my knee, "that's probably my night as well. But I get the sense that something's on your mind. Wanna talk about it?"

I take a moment to respond, not quite sure what I really want to say.

"I, uh..."

"It's ok if you don't. We can go back to talking about fun things if you want."

It's amazing what lengths she'll go to make me feel comfortable.

"It's just, um, today is kind of hard for me. Maybe it's best not to talk about it."

Her hand rests squarely on my knee as she meets my gaze in a way that is both secure and repressed. She didn't want to scare me off, but she had to get close enough to sell her point. A small smile creeps over her lips, just the perfect size to make it feel safe.

"You can talk to me. Maybe I can help."

I took a deep gulp. This is sort of uncharted territory. A year ago on this day I fought with Jesse. He wouldn't shut up about how I needed to tell him whatever was bothering me so he could fix it. He was so forceful about it. It was a demand, not a request. Things like this require a lighter touch, one he wasn't capable of providing. When I finally did tell him it only led to a giant fight. Apparently that's not the sort of thing that should bubble beneath the surface and then explode on the day of. Like he has a right to talk, he and his suburban fairy tale of a family wouldn't know something like this if it hit them with a shovel.

"Today, well, not today, but this date, six years ago, is when my mom died."

"Oh."

"So... what usually happens today is that I wake up, I hit the bottle, and I don't stop until I pass out."

"Have you had anything to drink today?"

"No, but I've only woken up, taken a shower, and come here."

"Well, the way I look at it that's an hour and a half of sobriety."

"I suppose, not exactly an accomplishment though."

"If what you're saying is true it's an improvement. These things happen incrementally. I used to visit my mom's grave all of the time. Now I barely ever get around to it."

I could see the regret in her eyes the moment she said it, what wasn't clear was where it was coming from. Should she not have revealed that? Or was it genuine remorse over her actions. I should probably say something.

"Were you guys close?"

"Yea, well, I was six when she died, so I didn't know her very well. What little I remember is good though. It's comforting. What about you and your mom?"

"It's... complicated."

"It often is. Do you miss her?"

"I... sort of. We weren't too close. I never really talked to her."

"Is there anything you wish you could say to her?"

"Yea. A lot of things."

I stop there. This is moving too quickly. She senses it.

"How about this. One thing, it can be big or small, you can take as much time as you need. Then, if you want, we can move on. In fact, we can even listen to music for the last few minutes."

I want to say something stupid. I want to reply with some minute detail of my day-to-day life that wouldn't mean anything, I want to snap at her for asking so much of me, I want to walk out of this room in tears and say that I can't do this. But really, I know I don't want those things. I just want her to understand.

"I wish I could tell her that I love her," I practically whisper. She sees my heart breaking as each word tumbles out of my mouth. She doesn't push, she doesn't even comfort. She allows the emotion of the moment to make itself known. I think she wants to let me soak it in. In one graceful movement she has her computer out and set up. Before clicking play she smiles softly.

"She knows."

It's simple, the sort of thing any friend could tell you in a time of need. That's not what made it so comforting. It was the way she said it, in no way condescending or forced. Not overly emotional yet entirely sincere. There was almost an effortlessness to it. It comes as naturally to her as stroking an errant hair out of her face. It was reflexive yet unique, the sort of thing that only someone like Chloe could pull off.

Our silence allows the music to fill the room. It's not as awkward as it should be. She doesn't stare, yet her eyes never venture beyond my face. It's comfortable. Almost too comfortable for my own comfort. I try to keep my eyes low. To myself. I don't think I could handle those giant blue orbs right now, but I try to keep the distance modest. I don't want her to think she did anything wrong. That is how we remain for the duration of the session; our eyes sharing a silent dance, hers careful not to get too close and mine trying not to venture too far from hers.

The hour is up and she knows it. She allows me a few extra minutes to compose myself. I'm grateful for that, even if I'm not overly fond of how easily she can read me.

"Well, that's our time."

"Yea... I suppose it is."

She comes in for a hug. I don't cringe, nor do I back away. I allow her the privilege to once again invade my personal space without any sort of objection. I don't think I could muster one up today. Truth is, I'm grateful. It was nice... having someone to listen without judging.

"So... I'll see you next week?"

"Yea."

We stand awkwardly for a moment, her unsure if I'm leaving or have anything else to say. I break the silence.

"Um... Chloe?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For... being there."

"You're welcome Beca."

I turn to walk away, feeling a slight twinge of guilt over something else.

"Oh, and Chloe?"

"Yes?"

"I guess... it wouldn't be the worst thing if my dad got his calling privileges back. I'm not saying I want to talk to him, but I don't think I need to keep myself quarantined any longer."

"Ok Beca, I'll let him know. I think that's a very mature decision."

"Er, thanks."

And like that I walk off, not totally happy with the decision. It's not like there's anything else I can do, Chloe has other patients. That's what I tell myself. I tell myself she has better things to do than move an inch per hour with me. Maybe I just wish I could have stayed a little while longer. I guess that's why I've been sitting alone in my car for the past 15 minutes with very little motivation to actually turn it on.

* * *

Chloe's POV

This is why I'm in this profession. You spend years in school memorizing symptoms that haven't been diagnosed in centuries, you face the constant scrutiny of unsatisfied patients, you even have to deal with the uninformed idiots who claim you aren't a "real" doctor. It's all for moments like this, when an uncomfortable girl who looks like she hasn't uttered the words in months (maybe years) thanks you for helping her.

I can't say the fact that it's Beca doesn't add a bit to it. Every psychiatrist has a few patients that they take a special interest in, but that doesn't mean it's unique to her. It's simply an accolade that has grown rarer and rarer to me. Sure patients thank me all of the time, sometimes as a courtesy, others as a sincere form of gratitude.

But to hear it... like that. To know that it really can't be easy but it's something that she had to say, that's what makes all of this almost worth it.

I might as well call Dr. Mitchell now while it's all still fresh in my mind.

"Hi Warren."

"Chloe! How are you?"

"I'm really good actually, I just had a great session with Beca."

"That's great to hear. Anything specific I should know?"

"Well I obviously can't go into the details, but I think we had our first significant breakthrough today."

"Really? That's great. I know today... isn't her best day. It's good to hear that things are going well."

"Yea. Anyway I just thought I should tell you that I think it's safe to call her again. Maybe don't jump right in, but if you want to talk to her soon I think that would be ok."

"Ok great! Thanks Chloe, you're doing a great job."

"No problem, bye!"

I hang up satisfied.

"Chloe?"

I turn to see Stacie, our receptionist.

"Yes?"

"Mr. Jackson called. He says he can't make it today, so it looks like your schedule is clear."

"Ok great, thanks Stacie."

"No problem."

Wow, things just keep getting better and better. I go to gather my things in my office before heading out to enjoy the rest of what essentially amounted to a half day. Like I said earlier, I'd probably spend my afternoon and evening watching VH1 and making bad choices, but whatever, better that than work.

It really is a beautiful day outside. You look forward to the late winter in Georgia, it's warm enough to dress however you'd like without reaching the temperatures generally associated with a city nicknamed "Hotlanta." This wouldn't be a bad day to go. Maybe I'll head over to Barden. It's only around 20 minutes away. I guess we'll see. I'm the kind of person who's prone to long drives for no reason. I can't help it, I just get in the car and go where the road takes me. Not in a dramatic, drifter sort of way though. I just sort of enjoy seeing what's out there.

There's a blue volvo sitting next to my car in another otherwise nearly empty parking lot. We don't get much traffic at this time of day. People generally like to come after work, which generally doesn't coincide with my schedule. I enjoy the solitude, hustle and bustle was never really my thing. There's a woman sitting motionless in the car. Her eyes are closed, she's barely moving. At this point my med school instincts kick in. I pick up the pace to a brisk walk to see if something is wrong. Wait, is that Beca? I think that is Beca. I tap on the glass of her window to see if she's awake. She jolts upward and looks confused.

"Beca? What are you still doing here?"

"Chloe? I, uh, shouldn't you still be working?"

"Last patient cancelled for the day so I'm heading home. What about you? You must've been here for... a while."

"Yea, I, err, car trouble."

She looks nervous. She's fidgeting, she won't look me in the eyes. Maybe she's just disoriented, she was just basically napping in her car.

"Oh, wow, did you call a mechanic?"

"Not yet, I'm just stubborn like that."

"Do you need a ride?"

"What? No, I'll be fine, I can wait for someone to tow me."

"Oh come on it's no big deal."

"Really Chloe it's fine, I don't want to impose."

"Nonsense I don't have anywhere to be. Come on, it's really not an imposition."

"Ok."

She seems uneasy, but in a good way. I'm almost positive I saw her try to hide a smile.

"Now there is one car rule that I'm going to have to insist you abide by," I say as we buckle our seat belts.

"And what might that be?"

"In this car we sing."

"And if I refuse?"

"Enjoy the hitch hike home."

She jokingly ponders it for a moment.

"Well at least then I could cross hitch hike off of my bucket list."

I shove her playfully.

"Ok, ok, you get one song. Choose wisely."

"Wow, tough call. Maybe I'll hold off onto later in the drive. I think I need a better idea of the time frame I'm working with here. Where am I taking you?"

"I live in the apartment complex on 17th street and East End."

"Oh wow that's only a few minutes away from here. I guess I'll have to act quickly."

"Titanium's always an option."

"True, but I'd like to hear you sing something else. I know you're no one trick pony."

"I'd disagree, but damn, I am pretty awesome."

We laugh. Her sarcasm is refreshing, though I've heard it before it's nice in a more relaxed environment.

"Ok, I think I know what I want to do. Follow my lead."

She nods. I know this won't exactly be her favorite song, but it's been on my mind for weeks. I think it fits her.

"_Oh, her eyes, her eyes_

_Make the stars look like they're not shinin'_

_Her hair, her hair_

_Falls perfectly without her trying_

_She's so beautiful_

_And I tell her everyday_

_Yeahh._"

Beca looks on, moving along with the beat, seemingly preparing herself to jump in.

"_I was thinking bout her, thinkin bout me_

_Thinkin bout us, what we gon' be_

_Open my eyes yeah, it was only Just A Dream._"

At first I was confused. Needless to say she didn't pick up where I left off, but I needed only a moment to get over my own stumble and continue singing.

"_I know, I know_

_When I compliment her she won't believe me_

_And it's so, it's so_

_Sad to think that she don't see what I see_

_But every time she asks me Do I look okay?_

_I say_

_So I travelled back, down that road_

_Will she come back, no one knows_

_I realize yeah, it was only Just A Dream._"

This was pure harmony. The two songs, both musically and lyrically, fit together like two halves of the same whole. Though she'd never admit it, I could tell Beca felt the same way about our voices. To a degree it even extended to our personalities. Beca, the cold, distant girl who is only visibly happy when she sings and me, the person who puts on a smile so frequently it has almost lost all meaning. I think that's what makes our voices work so well together. The utter contrast in who we are on the surface plays so well with how similar we are at our cores.

"_When I see your face_

_There's not a thing that I would change_

_Cause you're amazing (amazing)_

_Just the way you are (are)_

_And when you smile_

_The whole world stops and stares for awhile_

_Cause girl you're amazing_

_Just the way you are_

_So I travelled back, down that road_

_Will she come back, no one knows_

_I realize yeah, it was only Just A Dream_."

We both laugh with what little breath we have left.

"Wow, that was amazing. I really love singing with you Beca."

"You're not so bad yourself Chloe."

"So tell me, how did you pick that song?"

"I actually owe you a thank you for that one," she says, still smiling, "I'd spent my last few months at the station trying to find something to mix with Just a Dream. It was driving me crazy. I hadn't thought about it since I quit, but when you started singing it just sort of... clicked."

"Well, I guess we just have good chemistry," I wink.

"I guess so. Tell me, how does someone with a voice like yours not end up with a recording contract?"

"I could ask you the very same question."

"You could, but I have an obvious answer. I don't like the spotlight. Hence, the DJ thing. What's your excuse?"

I sigh, not wanting to reveal how little I wanted to answer. I guess I owed her the truth, she'd finally started opening up to me. She deserves the same courtesy, especially since we're not in my office. I'll give her the abridged version.

"I've been singing my whole life, but things always just sort of got in the way. I had to get good grades, I had to load up my free time with extracurriculars, so singing just sort of got thrown to the wayside. I sang a capella in college, and for a bit actually considered doing the musical version of running off and joining the circus. What would that be, just running off to LA?"

She cringes.

"I'm not sure. Anyway my senior year came up and I developed nodes. Vocal nodules, which basically ruined my musical life. I wanted to get them treated right away, but with med school applications and the MCAT I couldn't afford to spend any time out of commission. By the time I could actually do something about them it was too late and I ended up losing a decent amount of my register."

"Oh."

"Yea, it sucks, but I guess that's life."

"Well if it's any consolation, I think you sound pretty good either way."

"Thanks, you too."

The rest of the drive is filled with comfortable silence. I can tell she's enjoying herself through body language alone. Her usual tension has been replaced with relaxation as she lounges in the passenger seat of the car. Though her smile has faded there is visible content in her eyes.

"Well... this is me."

"Yea, I guess it is."

I want to ask her to stay. We could go get lunch, maybe a cup of coffee. We could see a movie or just sit in the park. Something is compelling me to ask her to stay. I tell myself it's because I'm worried. She did tell me how much she planned on drinking today, and I'd like to believe I could get her mind off of things for a while. I'm not even sure I'm naive enough to buy that one.

"So... I'll see you on Wednesday?"

"Yea, sounds good. Bye Beca."

"Bye."

* * *

Beca's POV

"_Are you still thinking about studying acting?"_

_"I'm auditioning for Professor Garrity's all black production of Fiddler on the Roof, it's called Fiddler Please!_"

6:26 PM. Still sober, though Community has a way of making me question that. I'll admit to the occasional temptation, but overall I was actually feeling fairly good about myself. Would I have planned my day this way? No. Would I have expected it? Hell no. Would I have been satisfied if you told me this was going to happen? I would have thrown a freaking tantrum.

That's the funny thing about Chloe. Things are just better when she's around and I'm not entirely sure why. There's no use in fighting it anymore, if I'm freely admitting it to myself she must have known for weeks. And so what if it's true? It doesn't mean things are going to change. It just means that when I go to her office I'll actually speak to her instead of passive aggressively listening to music (which I hadn't previously thought was possible).

It doesn't mean I've stopped thinking about mom either. How could I? There isn't a therapist in the world good enough to get you to stop thinking about your dead mother on the anniversary of her death.

It's not quite as painful as it should be though. I think mom would have liked Chloe. Suddenly my phone buzzed. Dad's not stupid enough to call me today. Who else even has my number?

"_I know we haven't talked in a while, just wanted to make sure you were ok. I know today can be tough for you._"

It's Jesse. Why does it have to be Jesse? There really isn't any upside to this text for me. Either I respond, and spend my evening talking to him pretending that things are going great, or I don't, and he assumes that I've either drunken myself into a coma or am too stubborn to even acknowledge his existence. I guess I'll take the lesser of two evils. I toss my phone to the other side of the couch, somewhat reconsidering the sobriety I was actually starting to feel proud of.


	4. Chapter 4

Nothing of any real significance to say here. Just keep up the reviews! Thanks for reading! Enjoy!

* * *

Chloe's POV

Aubrey knows how much I hate blind dates. Hate doesn't even feel like a strong enough word. I absolutely _despise_ them. I find the very notion insulting, I'm perfectly capable of finding someone on my own. Aubrey and I just have very different ideas of what I should be looking for.

I've never been in a serious relationship. I'm not opposed to the idea, I just know how I feel about people pretty quickly. I'm a firm believer in the idea that 90% of relationships survive only because neither of the parties fuck up. They don't cheat, they don't commit crimes, they don't do anything bad enough to warrant a break up. So they stay together even if they don't love each other, and I never plan on being in a relationship like that. Call me a romantic, but I don't want to spend months or years forcing myself to love someone. I want to feel it from the start. I want it to overwhelm me and confuse me and terrify me. I want to feel such a strong connection to somebody that nothing could keep us apart. Is that so much to ask?

In college I... well... dated isn't the right word... associated... with plenty of guys. Some were jocks, some were nerds, some were musicians, one was a Treble (which Aubrey will NEVER know about), but none of them ever lasted more than a few weeks. Aubrey, being the friend that she is, tried to set me up on a number of blind dates with guys she felt were worthy. After my fourth or fifth temper tantrum she merely stopped asking my opinion. She'd set it up, tell me when and where, and assume I was too nice to call the guy up and cancel. Damn her, she knows me too well.

So that's how I ended up here, all dolled up sitting at a table at an overpriced italian restaurant waiting for some hotshot business associate of Aubrey's to waltz in and sweep me off my feet. Good luck with that one buddy.

"Excuse me, Chloe Beale?" A tall, somewhat slender brunette man asks.

"Yes. So you must Henry."

"Yes I am, and might I say you look even lovelier than the pictures Aubrey showed me?"

"You might," I say with a fake smile. Asking for pictures before a blind date? Strike one.

"You know, you look awfully familiar. Are you sure we haven't met somewhere before?"

And there are strikes two and three.

"We haven't, but you're probably familiar with my brothers."

"Oh?"

"Yea. I come from a... high achieving family. My brother, Blair Beale, is a linebacker for the Falcons. My other brother, Jacob Beale, is the youngest current US senator."

"Wow, that's awfully impressive, your parents must be proud."

"You'd think so, but Jacob isn't the president and Blair hasn't won a Super Bowl, so we still get quite a bit of flack."

That's actually partially true, but I play it off as a joke. Like I'm divulging the inner workings of my family to this reject from the frat boy lagoon. I know that sounds awfully cynical, but one of the advantages to being a therapist is that you learn to read people with a single glance, and this guy's story is about as open and shut as they come.

He's charming, the kind of charm Aubrey would be taken in by because flattery is her kryptonite. He's certainly attractive, but he takes far too much pride in it. Appearances mean everything to him, I doubt he's ever heard the word "no" in his entire life. That is why he undoubtedly played his cards close to the vest when Aubrey brought this up. He couldn't say no outright, that would scare her off, but he wouldn't have agreed without pictures. And, not to sound cocky, but I'm pretty confident about... all this. One look and he was caught, hook, line and sinker.

There's no substance to him. No real story to be told, nothing I might enjoy discovering. He can tell a joke, but it's surely one he's either overheard or read on the internet and regurgitated 25 times. He claims to love Dave Matthews Band to sound cool but can only name two or three songs. Music is a deal breaker for me. If you can't spend an entire day sitting around listening to whatever's on my iPod then you aren't my type.

This is the sort of guy I would have bedded in college. He's the kind of guy an insecure girl would bring home to her parents and watch as he charmed their pants off, as if to say "see, I told you, I can find a decent man!"

This is not the sort of guy I could tolerate spending more than an evening with. At least not on a purely personal level. He'd be a rather pleasant business associate in small doses, a nice change of pace from the old farts I imagine to be running most of Aubrey's professional life. I just have no interest in spending any more time with him.

I was smart enough to drive myself here. There's nothing more awkward than the aftermath of a failed date in which one party has to drive the other home.

"So... I had fun. Will I see you again?"

"Well... to be honest, I'm just not sure it's working out."

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No, no, it's just, I don't think you're what I'm looking for."

"Really? I mean I'm successful, charming, well educated and, if I might say so myself, pretty damn good looking. I felt like we had pretty solid chemistry. I don't see what the problem is."

I wonder if he sees the irony in those words. The fact that he's listing these things does nothing but turn me off. I'm not interested in some self absorbed jackass, if anything, I'd like to be with someone who needs me to tell them how great they are. That's the kind of love I want, a connection so deep that only being together could possibly bring out the best in us.

"Most of that is true, but sometimes things can look great on paper and just not pan out. This is one of those times. Good luck with... whatever it is you and Aubrey do."

He looks disappointed. Maybe I've been too rough on him. He may not necessarily be a bad person, just not someone I feel like getting to know. There's nothing wrong with having a type, even if I've never actually been with someone fitting the description. Who knows if such a person actually exists. Men go on and on about how confusing women are, we really aren't that complicated. Be nice, be sensitive to our emotions, tell us we're pretty, show us you care. Do that and you're golden. You're the ones creating elaborate phony personalities to seduce women you have no intention of calling after a night in the sack.

I hope Aubrey's asleep. It's past 11, it's entirely possible. I wouldn't mind a night of sleep before my interrogation.

"So how was it? Isn't he great?" She asks before the door is even closed behind me. Of course she waited up for me, if nothing else she cares. Even if it's not entirely in ways I enjoy.

"Fine guy, definitely see the appeal, not interested."

Her smile drops immediately.

"What was wrong with him?"

"He just... wasn't my type. He was kind of full of himself."

"No he's not! He's so sweet, I can't believe you didn't like him."

"You call him sweet, I call him a player."

"Ugh, you're being ridiculous. You find something wrong with EVERY guy you date."

"Not now Aubrey, you can lecture me later, I really just want to go to bed."

"Fine, but this isn't over."

* * *

Beca's POV

I don't know why Jesse's text bothered me so much. It was one text! I didn't call him, nor did I respond. I just wanted to forget. So the sobriety I admittedly wasn't working very hard for disappeared within minutes. Maybe I owed him a response. Our relationship may not have worked out, but he was pretty much the only friend I ever had.

My friendship with Jesse was really straight out of a bad movie. We met when we were little kids, his house separated from mine by only a feeble fence. We went to school together and played together. We snuck out of our bedrooms at night to hang out in his tree house. In hindsight it was kind of sickening, at the time it was all I really had.

My mom won the house in the divorce. Not surprisingly, it was after all my father who had the affair. He just wanted to get out and start his new life with Sheila the stepmonster. When things were at their worst after the divorce he was the one who tried to console me. He was my constant, the one person I could have any level of dependence on. After an argument with my mom or a rough day at school I could just go sit with Jesse in the treehouse and things would feel easier.

He kissed me on my 16th birthday. I insisted that we didn't celebrate, but he wouldn't have any of it. I managed to negotiate down from a surprise party to a movie marathon. It's not like I wanted to watch movies, but I figured it was the only way to get him to agree not to gather everyone we knew into my house for a night of awkward social interaction. That was Jesse's problem. He so desperately wanted me to be... normal. To enjoy things that most people did.

So when the end credits of The Breakfast Club scrolled down the screen and he leaned in I reciprocated his kiss more out of surprise and courtesy than anything.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that," he whispered.

It's awkward. It's... wrong. As cliché as it sounds it was like kissing my brother. He wouldn't accept it. We fought for hours that night, him telling me to accept the feelings I so obviously had, me shouting so vigorously that they weren't there. We didn't speak for a while after that. Not until mom died. I told him I was moving to LA, and in a rare moment of weakness that I'd miss him. He says he'll miss me too.

We text when I'm in LA. I keep him updated on my life. He tells me about his ridiculous a capella adventures at Barden. Eventually we settle back into our old routine even with an entire country separating us. I go to him when I hear that I haven't gotten a gig or am evicted by my latest couch/futon/cardboard box (don't ask). He makes things easier. It's nice having someone to talk to.

Why couldn't he have just left it at that when I came home? We were great as friends. I don't care if movies told him that this was fate. When my parents split up the universe kept us together. When I left of my own accord it brought me right back where I started. This was destiny, and we couldn't ignore it any longer.

I give in mostly because I have to. Mom was gone, he was all I had left. I didn't want to be alone, so for a year I tried to be the girl he wanted me to be. I got a job at the radio station, I actually stayed sober until the sun went down, all in all it seemed like I was actually getting my life back together. But I wasn't. I wasn't happy with any of it. I was living a lie and I knew it.

Eventually he dumped me. I deserved it, maybe I even needed it, but I was alone. And when you're alone things just... stop working. I stopped making music after that. I just wasn't interested. I grew to resent Jesse for that. He really hadn't done anything wrong, but life just got so hard without him.

The irony isn't lost on me. When I actually had people in my life, people who cared, I shut them out. Then when I was alone I fell apart. I can't begin to understand the inner workings of my own mind. I guess that's what Chloe's for.

Not that that I'd let her know that. Not right away at least. We keep our sessions light for the next few weeks. I slowly reveal to her bits and pieces of my past. She never goes too far, she knows how little it would take to force me back into my shell.

It's not that I don't trust her. I do, I absolutely do, to the extent that I'm capable of trusting someone. I just don't quite know how to express it. I'm not the type to walk into her office and break down into a tearful admission. There's a certain level of build up involved. But that doesn't mean it wasn't slowly killing me inside when I didn't tell her. Eventually, I realize that enough is enough.

"My ex-boyfriend texted me a few weeks ago," I tell her, towards the end of our seventh session. I couldn't just jump in with it. By now I'm sure she knows my methods. I don't just dive in, I have to dip my toe in the water and see how it feels. I have to be comfortable, a luxury she graciously allows.

"I didn't even know you had an ex-boyfriend," she says unfazed. I shoot her a quizzical look and she immediately tries to backtrack.

"I meant an ex-boyfriend you still thought about."

"Doesn't everyone think about their exes?"

"Not me."

"How does that work?"

"Hard to think about exes you don't have."

"I'm calling BS on that. I mean look at you," I say, gesturing towards her body, "how is the entire country not offering your father goats and oxen for the right to date you?"

She blushes, clearly flustered.

"Well first of all, we're fully stocked in the goats and oxen department," she laughs, "but more importantly, I date. I just don't get into serious relationships. I'm not opposed to them, I just know what I want and haven't found anyone who can give it to me."

"So you don't think about your... flings? I'm sorry if that's offensive, pretend I said a nicer word."

"It's ok Beca, no, I don't. They were nice to have around, but I have no regrets involving them. So what about you? What'd your ex-boyfriend say?"

"It was back on the 3rd. He just wanted to see if I was ok."

"Were you? Not to make any assumptions, but you seemed like you were doing pretty well when I left you, especially considering the circumstances."

"I think I was doing... ok. I wasn't drinking, but then I usually-" I stop, not wanting to reveal the effect she has on me. What good would that do?

"You usually what?"

"Nothing, it's just, I wasn't drinking. Then I saw the text. I think I lasted four more minutes."

"Well, before we move on. I want to tell you that I'm proud of you."

"For what? I can't go five minutes without drinking after seeing a text from my ex."

"True, but you went almost an entire day without drinking on the anniversary of your mother's death. Considering your usual patterns, I'd say that's impressive."

I give only a slight nod.

"So back to the matter at hand. What about the text bothered you so much."

"I'm not really sure."

"Do you still love him?"

"No."

"Did you ever love him?"

"No," this one takes a moment.

"Do you wish you were still with him."

"Yes and no."

"Explain."

"I don't love him. I never loved him. But he was my best friend, and part of me misses him."

"If you miss him, then shouldn't you talk to him?"

"I don't know. What do you think? I just... I don't want him to think I might want to get back together. He's the kind of guy that can latch onto even the smallest sliver of hope."

"Well... do you think it's at all possible that he just wants his friend back."

I take a moment to consider it.

"I don't know. What if he doesn't? I just... I don't know if it's fair to him."

"So let me ask you something Beca. First of all, do you have any other ex-boyfriends that I should know about?"

"No," I say with a bit too much gusto."

"And you say that you didn't love this one."

"Right."

"And you have no interest in getting back together with him or even rekindling things in the slightest?"

"Yup."

"And, correct me if I'm wrong, but can I assume you're not the one night stand type?"

I nod.

"Beca, I might be way off base here, but is it at all possible that you're... gay?"

I'm not insulted by the question. It's perfectly valid, my dating history begins and ends with Jesse, I dress like a goth lumberjack and my personality doesn't exactly scream femininity. She's just... a bit too interested. Her head is arched forward with her hands resting in her lap. She stares directly into my eyes, hoping they might hold the answer my mouth is failing to reveal.

"You basically said you've never been in love either, and that you never think about guys that you've been with. I could ask you the very same question."

"You could, but I'd answer it directly rather than deflecting the question."

"Touché."

We sit in silence for a moment or two. Maybe she's giving me a moment to think this over, or maybe she thinks I need some time to come to terms with it. Maybe she needs more time to study me.

"So what do you think?"

No use in fighting this. She's not letting it go, and if I avoid it now it'll be on my mind until I come up with a firm answer.

"I don't know. I guess I've never really considered it."

"Well, have you ever been attracted to girls?"

"I haven't thought about it much. I don't spend too much time around girls, and when you're growing up all you see is the prince and the princess getting their happily ever after. It's never the princess and the princess. Maybe I just sort of though that when the right guy came along I'd be attracted to him."

"That's fairly common. Nobody... nobody likes to accept that they might be gay. There's obviously a stigma to it. Even if there wasn't it's natural to feel unsure. Female sexuality is more of a spectrum than two firm sides. But let me ask you this, how was the sex you had with your ex?"

"It was... tolerable. I really did it just to please Jesse, I can't say that I was ever totally into it and I never once initiated it. The way they talk about sex you'd think there would be this great connection with your partner, to me it just felt like a physical act."

"That's because you haven't found the right person yet. I can't tell you who it's going to be, whether it'll be a man or a woman, or even if it'll happen at all, but if you find the right person, sex will be the most wonderful thing you could possibly imagine. That's what I believe anyway."

I sit in silence for a moment, trying to compose myself.

"Sorry, this is just... a lot to take in."

"That's ok. Believe me, it's not something that's easy to deal with. I'd suggest taking this week to really think about it. I'm not guaranteeing that you'll come up with an answer, but I think it's important to start looking for one. To really start to find yourself and what you want to be for the rest of your life. And if you have any questions, if you even just want someone to talk to, here," she quickly grabs a pen and paper, scribbling something before handing it to me, "this is my cell number. Anywhere, any time, if you want to talk to me, just call. I'm generally not too busy."

I glance at my phone, realizing that our hour is up.

"Thanks," I say softly.

"No problem," she smiles.

I turn around and prepare to walk out when I remembered something from earlier in the question.

"Hey, um, Chloe?"

"Yes?"

"When I asked if you were a lesbian, you said you wouldn't deflect the question. But you did."

"Well it was your therapy session Beca, we're not here to talk about me."

"True, but it seemed like an odd thing to do. So, unless you're not comfortable answering, what exactly are you?"

"I'm... I'm straight," she says, somewhat unsure of herself. It's only a stumble, the sort of thing most people would overlook. She composes herself quickly though. Maybe I'm just over thinking it. Maybe now that I'm questioning my own sexuality I have to question everyone else's. Yea, that's probably it. So, I wordlessly turn around and head for the door.

* * *

Chloe's POV

There's a good reason I stumble when I state my sexuality. It's not like I've never questioned it in the past. In fact, it's not really a closed book. I never found the answer. I never had the chance.

Aubrey and I have known each other for almost our entire lives. We met when we were 10 at a place that basically amounted to a prodigy camp. That's how I spent my summers as a child, more school work. It's a good thing Aubrey and I come from a similar upbringing, because without her I never would have been able to bear it. Like me, her mother was out of the picture. Her parents got divorced a few years after she was born and thanks to an ironclad pre-nup and a legal team that would make OJ blush, Glen Posen walked away with nearly 100% of their joint assets, including sole custody of their daughter Aubrey.

Her father spent her entire childhood working her to the bone, forcing her to excel in everything she did. He was determined to, as Aubrey has told me on a few occasions, "scrub the Janet (her mother) right out of her." His daughter would be perfect, the complete opposite of the soft, emotional woman her mother was.

We bonded over that. She was the only person who could understand my pain, and I hers. The time I spent with my mother allowed me to be the caring friend she needed when the instincts bestowed upon her by her father kicked in.

When we were both accepted to Barden at the ripe old age of 16 we decided to bolt, convincing our fathers that the prestige of graduating so young would be so great that it would mean more than waiting until our proper college ages and attending Harvard or Yale. Really, we just both needed to get out.

And it was exactly what we needed. For the first time, we got to enjoy ourselves and actually be young. We both joined the Barden Bellas, the school's preeminent all female a capella group. We excelled academically, but weren't forced to push ourselves to the extremes we were used to. It was a comfortable environment, a place where we could really find ourselves without the pressure of family holding us back.

That didn't make it any easier when I fell for Aubrey. Well, when I thought I did anyway. The truth is I'm not sure if what I felt for Aubrey was love or just a very deep companionship, but whatever it was, it certainly wasn't just friendship. I needed to figure it out, so I called my older brother Blair, who himself had just returned home to the University of Georgia after attending some football awards ceremony.

He was understanding. Bordering on sympathetic. He told me to really consider the implications of what I was saying, which was exactly what I planned on doing. My other brother Jacob said mostly the same things. Neither was particularly supportive, but neither shot me down. They weren't close minded people, I guess they were just sort of surprised.

Or maybe disappointed. That was the feeling I got when my dad arrived at Barden the following morning. There were no pleasantries, not even a hello, he simply commanded that I follow him. We sat in his car in silence as he drove us back to my childhood home in suburban Atlanta. Waiting in the living room were my brothers, eyes glued to the floor. Neither dared look me in the eyes after the betrayal they'd just taken part in. The next hour was, for lack of a more original metaphor, hell.

"No daughter of mine will take part in such an... abomination!" He shouted, "it's a disgrace, it's utterly and completely wrong on both a physical and moral level. I know I raised you better than that, and I know that Glen raised Aubrey better than that. Now I don't expect to hear another word of this. Are we clear?"

I sit in silence.

"I ASKED YOU A QUESTION!"

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes sir, we are clear."

"Good, there's a taxi outside waiting to take you back to school. I suggest you get in before I have a chance to start again."

The rest of the day was miserable. I sat alone in our shared dorm room, sobbing. Aubrey didn't arrive until the evening, desperately trying to console me. I told her everything, and though I thought she'd never want to speak to me again, her response was actually exactly what I needed to hear.

"I had the same conversation with my father six months ago," she sighs.

"You did? And you didn't tell me?"

She nods.

"Why not?"

"I thought about it. There were a lot of sleepless nights, a lot of days I just wanted to shout to the heavens what I felt for you. But as time passed on, I think I realized that we don't love each other."

"We don't?"

"No, at least we're not in love with each other. We've always been there for each other. Helping each other through the crap that makes up our lives, deal with the hell our families put us through. But we never fully fixed each other. Things didn't instantly become ok the moment we entered each other's lives. We're confidantes, best friends, but not soul mates. I think that's what we're supposed to be for each other. I don't think we're meant to be together, I think we're meant to help each other find the person that we're meant to be with. To find the person who can fix us," she says with heart, "even if that means being as broken as we are," she adds with a laugh.

And deep down I know she's right. We weren't meant to be together. But that didn't make getting over her any easier. I always sort of resented how easily it came to her. Maybe it was because she did it first or she had six months to get over me before I even knew what was going on, but she simply took to dating better than I did. She was hopeful with every new guy she met, convinced that he had a chance to be the one who could fix her.

I was more cynical, turning guys away as quickly as they came. It always hurt Aubrey to see me like that, which is why I tolerated her sending me on blind date after blind date. She so badly wanted to be the one to help me find that special someone, she never realized that I needed to find him myself. For so long that pronoun was always _him_, likely due to the fear instilled in me by my father. Now? I'm not so sure. Maybe I never was, but now I have a reason to acknowledge it.

I decide to send Dr. Mitchell a text, not wanting the strenuous task of holding myself together at the moment.

"_Hi Dr. M, good meeting with Beca today. Think it might be best if you didn't call this week, she's coming to terms with some things and I think it might be best to do it on her own._"

"_Ok Chloe, if you think that would be best. Thanks for letting me know._"

Part of me envies Beca. I know she and her dad aren't close, but mine would never go so far for me. It's hard to fathom what went wrong between them, but I guess she'll tell me when she's ready.

I can't get my mind off of Beca. Every time my phone rings I silently hope that it's her, every patient presents a poor imitation. It certainly doesn't help when I hear her music on the radio. She's everywhere. I just need a drink, something to take my mind off of her.

"So how was work?" Aubrey asks, taking a seat next to me.

"It was... fine."

"Lies!"

"It was either great or horrible, I can't quite decide, I just know that I don't want to think about it."

"Well this sounds juicy, did silent girl finally open up?"

"Aubrey I'm serious."

"If you insist," she shrugs, "by the way, we're having a big office party on Friday to celebrate the merger. Would you like to join me?"

"Aubrey I don't know-"

"Save it," she interrupts.

"Seriously I'm not sure if it's a good idea."

"Come on, I see you sulking around her far too much. It's getting kind of sickening, so come out and have some fun with me. Please, I promise you won't regret it."

I sigh, defeated.

"Fine."

* * *

Beca's POV

I'm nowhere near as concerned as I should be. Or maybe as I'd expect to be. The alcohol helps, but it's not like being straight has worked out well for me in the past anyway. Besides, I don't even know what I am. For all I know I might just be some sort of asexual hermit. In fact that would be the heavy favorite if some sick, twisted bookie was taking bets on this.

I've never really been attracted to anyone. I've never looked at someone and thought, damn, they have a nice body._ Chloe has a nice body_. Oh shut up brain. She's a nice person, someone who has somehow been able to connect with me. She's trained to do it, I'm no different than any other patient.

Besides, so what if she does have a nice body. There's no law against being a sexy psychiatrist. If anything I'd imagine it's encouraged, who wants to confide in someone who doesn't even look like they take five minutes to put themselves together in the morning? She's a great therapist, that's all she is.

Besides, I don't even know what attraction feels like. Not on any serious level anyway. I've never looked into someone's eyes and felt all warm and fuzzy inside. _You mean other than Chloe_? Come on brain, let's be a little more mature. She does have fantastic eyes. That's totally objective though, I doubt anyone could look into them and not get completely lost. They're so blue and big and warm. _And fuzzy_? Seriously brain, that's enough!

She's just the first person who's ever really understood me. To let me be myself while also pushing me to be more. She does such a good job of letting me feel like she really cares too. She has to be one of the best therapists in the world. If not, whoever's making the rankings seriously needs to see what she's done to me.

This won't stop eating away at me though.

"_Hey,_" I send the text without thinking.

"_Beca?_"

"_The one and only._"

"_What's up?_"

"_I think we need to talk. In person. Would you maybe wanna hang out some time?_"

"_Sure. Friday work?_"

"_Sounds good. Thanks for being so cool about this Jesse._"

"_No problem, we should be able to talk to each other. See you then._"

I feel stupid almost immediately after. How could seeing Jesse help? He'd just make things worse. So would did I text him? I guess I needed the distraction. Anything would be better than this.


	5. Chapter 5

First of all, thanks for the awesome response everyone! Keep it coming, I've really appreciated the reviews, especially the more detailed ones, and being the narcissist that I am I'm completely loving it. Anyway, I'm in a bit of tight spot here. I understand that I've been very heavy on the introspection and monologues, and rightfully so because it's really the only way to tell this story. That being said, I want to incorporate a bit more dialogue and I guess... action? I'm not sure if that's the right word, but I think you know what I'm getting at. I want to find a good balance here because I think both elements are really important to this specific story, but I'll be curious to see what you guys think here. If this just doesn't work for this chapter let me know, I don't think I'll ever go so dialogue heavy again but this time I sort of felt like I had to, I really want to make sure I don't just get the story right, but I tell it correctly. Anyway, keep up the great reviews and enjoy!

* * *

Beca's POV

I'm not quite sure what the protocol is here. Do I knock? Do I text him to let him know that I'm here? Do I turn around, get in my car and drive away? No, this can't be that bad. I've got balls, I'm not just gonna run away. This had to happen eventually. Might as well get it over with now. I knock timidly, somewhat hoping he won't hear. The footsteps I hear coming towards the door indicate otherwise.

"Hey Beca."

"Jesse," I say with a nod.

"Come in," he gestures towards the living room. We walk to the couch in silence.

"So... this is awkward isn't it?"

"Definitely," I agree.

"Want a drink?"

"Oh God yes."

* * *

Chloe's POV

"Come on Chloe hurry up! We have to go!"

In fairness to Aubrey I was really dragging my heels on this. The idea of spending an evening making small talk with Aubrey's work friends didn't exactly sound enticing. Years of inactivity dulled my keen social instincts, like an animal enclosed in a zoo. I could still break that side of myself out when I wanted to, but the days of me being everyone's best friend seem long gone. Maybe it's just my cynicism, but I'm almost positive the majority of this night is going to include being hit on by guys with higher sex counts than IQs.

"Ok, I'm ready."

I walk out of my room to face Aubrey's not-so-silent judgment. She scans my entire body for the slightest imperfection before analyzing the data and revealing her conclusion.

"Casual, but flirty, I like it."

I roll my eyes.

"Am I supposed to be flirty tonight? This is an office party after all, we wouldn't want you to get a reputation as someone with loose friends."

"I'll manage. Come on Chloe, you never know when you might meet someone. So put on your happy face and come enjoy yourself for a change."

I smile. She's right, maybe I should be a bit more open to this.

"You're right, I'll be good," I say softly.

"Good. I'll even leave you the apartment if you need it."

I smack her playfully.

"Aubrey!"

"Hey, you never know."

Aubrey's taste in music is decidedly stubborn, so I'm usually stuck listening to show tunes and Mariah Carey when we share a car. One of the fringe benefits of agreeing to this was that it wasn't too hard to convince her to at least let me pick the radio station. She's too stubborn not to put up a mock fight, but eventually I win control and tune in to KLPX. Just as we reach the station a new song begins. It's a mix of _Price Tag_, _Just the Way You Are_, and several other songs.

"Told you she's good," I smirk.

"Too alternative for my taste," Aubrey responds, "she never could have been a Bella."

"I'll be sure to mention that to her next week. She'll be devastated that the great Aubrey Posen doesn't recognize her true calling in a capella. Side note, how many songs have you gotten on the radio?"

Silence.

"I win," I stick my tongue out playfully.

* * *

Beca's POV

"So... therapy huh?" Jesse asked, as he handed me my third drink. Alcoholic or not, I'm five foot nothing and weigh about as much as a medium sized dog. By this point I had just about hit my sweet spot, that place where I can relax and talk, but not so drunk where I'll do something I regret. I call it stage one drunk. Somehow, I doubt I'm stopping here.

"Crazy right? I mean I wasn't on board with it at first, but I'm glad I did it."

"Well hey, so am I, you obviously wouldn't be here otherwise. So it's going well?"

"Really well actually. I mean by my standards."

"Oh stop," he says with an almost concerned look in his eyes, "you always do this. Judge yourself on these completely ridiculous standards just to put yourself down. You're pretty great, even if you're not exactly Ms. Emotional."

"What can I say, emotions kind of suck."

"Yet you're sitting here preaching at the altar of therapy. At least give yourself some credit for that."

"Well I'm not the one who deserves the credit, Chloe is."

"Chloe?"

"My therapist. She's just... God amazing isn't even a good enough word."

"I kind of just assumed therapy meant asking 'how does that make you feel' as you lied on a couch. What variation could she possibly have on that?"

"Wow now look who's not in touch with his emotions," I laugh.

"Well excuse me for only being exposed to therapy through movies. Most people would wear that as a badge of honor."

"Yea, yea, you and your movies. That's not what therapy is at all. Although, to be fair, that was what I assumed at first too."

"So what _do_ you do?"

"Chloe basically lets me do whatever I want. At first when I wasn't comfortable talking about things we'd just listen to music and she'd... study me? I'm not quite sure how to put it, but I get the sense that she learned a ton just by looking at me. Then when I actually felt like not being a bitch we'd just talk about whatever we wanted. Just random topics like chicken fried steak and Jedis," I stop when he gives me his ultimate 'you talked about Star Wars?!' face.

"Oh settle down that was her, not me. Eventually she just found seamless ways to integrate that with the more meaningful stuff. So now I can actually talk to her about things. And it's really nice. She always knows just what to say, whether I need my ass to be verbally kicked or if I just need some encouragement."

I can see the hurt in his eyes. It's blatant, in fact I wouldn't be surprised if he _wants_ me to bring it up.

"Something bothering you?"

"No, no. I'm happy for you. It's just... we were best friends for years. We dated, I knew you better than anyone. But the way you talk about her... the things you're willing to do with her... it just makes me pale in comparison. I don't know Beca, don't you think you'd be kind of hurt if you were in my shoes. What does she give you that I couldn't?"

"I don't know what to tell you Jesse. Chloe's just... she's like the perfect person. Everything about her just makes things feel good. It's not even the fact that she's a therapist, she just knows how to manipulate my emotions without hurting me. The way she looks at me, the way she smiles. She's like the antithesis of me. It's like I physically can't be... Beca... when she's around."

He stays silent. Maybe he doesn't have the right words, or maybe he's afraid that he does.

"Jesse please say something."

"The way you talk about her, you have to know that that's not the way people talk about their therapists."

Well, this night just took a not-so-interesting turn.

"I'm gonna need another drink.

* * *

Chloe's POV

"So long story short, that's how I made my first million."

"Wow, and you say you only had to evict one family?"

"I know right? God it's like, why the hell isn't everyone else doing this?"

"Well clearly they just don't have your brain," I feign flattery, "well anyway, it was nice to meet you Rob."

The saddest thing about that was that he wasn't even the worst of it. The people Aubrey works with are awful. I mean these people are actually just horrible people. I can't even sugarcoat it. In some way or another, every one of them profits off of other people's misfortune. It's sickening. It really makes me worry about Aubrey. She's not like this when I'm not around is she?

"Having fun?" Aubrey asks.

"Can't you tell?" I ask sarcastically.

"Oh come on they're not that bad."

"Aubrey I'm not sure but I'm fairly certain that Lilly chick has killed someone."

"Ok, they're not _all_ that bad. Have you met any nice guys?"

"They're all kind of bleh," I emphasize the final syllable.

"They're nice! Just give them a chance."

"When you find one that wasn't directly responsible for the 2008 financial crisis I'll marry him on the spot."

She rolls her eyes and walks away. I appreciate what Aubrey wants to do for me, in fact I don't know what I'd do without her as a friend, but she has to realize how little I want to do this. Putting aside these horrible people, there's just no romance in this. I don't exactly want to bounce my grandchildren on my knees and tell them about how I met their grandfather at a friend's office party. Or a blind date for that matter.

"Chloe?"

I turn around. Great, this is exactly what I need right now.

"Henry?"

"What's up?"

"Um, not much? What are you doing here?"

"Well I do work here so there's that. Honestly though Aubrey told me you'd be coming, so I thought I'd come by and see if you might want to just talk."

Aubrey did what?

"Look Henry, you're a perfectly nice guy, and I'm sure there are plenty of girls out there who would love to talk to you, but I'm just gonna be honest here. You're not my type. So I'm gonna turn around and walk away, and I hope that out the goodness of your heart you don't follow me, try to talk to me, or attend a party hoping to see me ever again."

I storm off, not particularly caring when I bump into two people and nearly trip a third. I ignore the vibration of my cell phone in my pocket as my tunnel vision leads me directly to Aubrey.

"Outside. Now."

"What?"

I don't wait for another word, I grab hold of her hand and start walking towards the door.

* * *

Beca's POV

"God Jesse, why do you have to make this about you! Why can't me not loving you and me having a perfectly nice therapist be mutually exclusive?"

This was stage two of drunk Beca. Angry, belligerent, awfully prone to yelling. I figure I've got about one more drink before stage three kicks in. Might as well make this time count.

"Because I know you Beca. For you to let anyone in like that, therapist or not, you'd pretty much _have_ to be in love with them. In your entire life, you've only opened to two people. Me and her. We broke up, you're still seeing her. What am I supposed to think?"

"Well first of all Jesse, _you_ broke up with _me_," I shout, obnoxiously pointing to the person in question, "or did you forget? It's not like I would have broken up with you. If Chloe told me to stop coming to her office I'd stop seeing her too."

Shit. I shouldn't have said that. I really shouldn't be drinking this much.

"You wouldn't have broken up with me? Really? Because your distant attitude and overall lack of caring for our relationship sure didn't make it seem that way."

"Come on Jesse, it wasn't like that."

"So what was it like Beca? Explain to me, what was really going on in that head of yours."

"You know! You knew going in what I was but it didn't stop you. I told you I'm not good with relationships, yet you kept constantly trying to fix me and failing. It's not my fault, that's just who I am."

"So that's why you're not with her then? Because you're just not good at relationships?"

"No Jesse! I'm not with her because I don't love her and I don't want to date someone I don't love. It's that simple."

Crap. What the hell is coming out of my mouth?

"Did you ever love me? Really Beca, at any point, whether it was during our friendship or relationship, did you even remotely love me? Because you sure as hell dated me."

"Jesse I-"

"You know what? Save it. I guess I should have seen this coming. Maybe you just weren't into me because you were into girls the whole time. It would at least explain this."

"Oh come on Jesse don't be ridiculous."

"Am I being ridiculous Beca? Because the way you acted towards me sure wasn't the way normal straight girls would have acted with their boyfriends. What did you even feel for me?"

"I don't know! I don't know ok, you just wanted it so badly, and you were all that I had and I didn't know what I was doing so I tried to do things your way but I just didn't know how!"

"You don't know? How do you not know? You either feel something or you don't, it's that simple. But because you're you, you're just gonna keep denying it and denying it until you lose your chance. The saddest part about all of this is that you won't even just tell me no, you have to keep telling me that you don't know. What am I supposed to think when you say that? You _do_ know, you just won't accept it. The way I look at it, there are really only two explanations at this point. Either you love me, and this whole thing has been your way of not dealing with it, or you love her and you don't have the courage to do anything about it. It's one or the other, which is it?"

"What the hell do you want from me Jesse? Do you want some eloquent explanation of why we didn't work? Why I just don't know what the hell was going on with us then, or even now? Because you're just not gonna get it. I have no fucking clue what happened to us or what I felt or feel for you. As for Chloe, I've told you how I feel. I don't love her. Why is everything so black and white with you? It's not love or hate. She makes things better. She makes me feel good about myself. That's her job, and that's her personality. That's not love. Why can't you just accept that?"

"Because Beca, contrary to popular belief, I actually want you to be happy! I care about you, and even if I'm coming off as an asshole right now, I want to help you figure all of this out. Deep down, I know, and I think you know, that it's either me or her. Not both, not neither, you love one of us, and I'm gonna help you figure out who."

"What are you talking about it."

"I'm laying it down in absolute terms for you Beca. At the end of this statement, I'm going to turn around and walk into my bedroom. If you love me, then follow me inside and we'll have sex. If you don't, then walk out of this apartment and understand that you're doing it because you love Chloe. I know you'll try to convince yourself otherwise, but for once I hope you recognize what's staring you in the face. There are two pretty great people in your life and you love one of them. The longer you deny it the longer you'll be miserable. So make your decision, and know that whatever you do, you _are_ making that decision. Even if you don't want to accept it."

With that, Jesse turned around and walked into his bedroom. Shit. What the hell am I doing? Is it so ridiculous that I don't love one of these people? Maybe I'm just not capable of love. I'm sure that's a thing, maybe I'll ask Chloe about it. _Chloe_. She gave me her number. She said I could call any time. I don't know what I'm expecting here, but maybe she can help. I pull out my cellphone and scroll through my contacts before reaching her name.

Ring ring. Ring ring. Ring ring. Ring ring. Ring ring. Ring ring. Ring ring.

"Hi this is Chloe!"

"Chloe! I need your help with something. I'm-"

"I'm not here right now. Please leave a message after the beep. Bye!"

Great. Just fucking great. I can't help but feel bad. I wonder if anything I said lead Jesse on. I don't love him. I don't think I do anyway. What feels worse, though, is that that's not what's making me feel bad. It's Chloe. Maybe Jesse was right, you either know it your don't, and I know that Chloe makes me feel things. No! It's not real. It can't be real. She's a therapist. A therapist! It's her job to make me feel things. _So why do I have to keep convincing myself of that_? I'm not proud of this decision. It might be the worst thing I've ever done. Maybe it's what I have to do though. Maybe I have to prove, if only to myself, that I don't feel anything for her. I take a deep breath, chug the rest of my drink, and walk towards the bedroom.

* * *

Chloe's POV

"What the hell is wrong with you Aubrey?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Henry? Does that ring any bells?"

"I just told him you'd be here."

"Oh that's bullshit and you know it."

"What? I thought he deserved a second chance. Scratch that, I thought he deserved a first chance."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what it means Chloe. I line guy after guy up for you and you won't even give them the time of day. What is it? What am I doing wrong here?"

"That! That is what you're doing wrong here Aubrey! You have to realize by now how much I hate things like that. But no, you're too controlling to even give me a chance to live my life my own way."

"I'm too controlling? Chloe have you spent any time with yourself over the past few years?"

"Far too much for my taste, but sending me the 2009 graduating class of Harvard Business School isn't gonna help!"

"All you do is mope around. You hate your job, you refuse to socialize outside of what is absolutely necessary, it's like you're not even you anymore! What happened to that optimistic, cheerful, downright bubbly girl who I got to know as a child? Sure things were hard some times, but you still always managed be... Chloe. Now it's like that girl is just gone. I know she can't really be, because I see her in small doses, but she disappears as quickly as she comes. I miss my best friend Chloe, and I just want to help bring her back."

"So your solution, rather than doing what a normal person would do like maybe talking to me about it or letting me figure it out on my own, was to parade a bunch of guys you _should_ have known I'd hate in front of me and expect me to latch onto one of their wallets? I mean really Aubrey, do you know anything about me? I don't like these guys, they're your type, not mine."

"What is your type then Chloe? Because lately all you can think about is that damn alt girl!"

I could tell Aubrey knew she crossed the line the moment she said it. I could see the apology forming in her mouth, but I was having none of it.

"How dare you. How DARE you! I may not be perfect, hell, I might completely suck right now, but she's a patient-"

"Chloe-"

"And you don't even trust me enough to act professionally around her just because I happen to like her as a person? Is that so wrong? I'm not some robot doctor Aubrey, I'm a human being, odds are I'm going to occasionally meet people that I like. That doesn't mean there's anything more to it. Is it so wrong that I'm actually enjoying part of my job Aubrey? Is it wrong that I actually feel good about myself for a change?"

"Chloe-"

"Just shut it Aubrey! I don't want to hear anything you have to say. You're a controlling, manipulative, untrusting liar! You... you are a horrible friend!"

And that's when the vomit started spewing out. Right at me. I don't think there's a word for how disgusting this is. At least she's missing my hair and face. Normally this is around the time I'd comfort her (from behind of course). I'd rest a hand on her back and hold her hair back as she threw up. I'd tell her that it was going to be ok and that it'd be over soon even though I knew it wouldn't. Not tonight though. I turn around and walk towards my car. Aubrey can find her own way home. I pause after a few steps, needing to get one last jab in.

"At least Beca has the balls to deal with her problems, unlike you."

With that I storm away, ripping off my sweater and throwing it into the nearest trash can. The drive home is long and lonely, with only the crappy late night DJ of KLPX to keep me company. I really should have taken a cab. Now my car is going to smell like vomit for... ever. Oh well, I'll just get a new car.

I shower when I get home. It's not going to get the smell out, but it'll at least make me feel somewhat clean. I hope. I throw on a pair of PJs before crawling into bed, wanting to put this whole night behind me. I reach into the pocket of my jeans, which are sitting on the floor because I'm honestly too frustrated to be clean right now, to put my cellphone and wallet on my night table now so I don't forget and wash them later. Why is my phone's light on?"

"_Beca Mitchell: missed call (1)._"

Beca called me? I scramble to find out when. Crap, that was a while ago. I quickly hit her name in my contact list hoping to reach her before it's too late.

"Helloooooooooo."

"Beca? It's Chloe. Did you call me?"

"Chloe? Chloe! I did call you, as a matter of fact. But that was a long time ago. Like a whiiiiiile ago."

"What's up? Is something wrong?"

"I just kind of sort of needed your help with something, but it's cool you weren't around. I get it, you're like a busy person with other stuff to do on a Friday night than help me," she's very obviously drunk, slurred words, repetitive phrasing, this won't end well, "I just... I did something bad and I wanted to get you to stop me but you didn't pick up so I did it and now I'm... outside? Somewhere. I can see the sky, so I know I'm not inside."

"Beca are you ok? Do you need me to come pick you up?"

"No, no, no, no, no! I'm fine Chloe you don't have to worry about me! If I keep walking in this direction I'm sure I'll end up at home sooner or later."

"Beca, just stop. Please, I'll come get you."

"But you don't even know where I am!"

"Can you see any street signs? Anything that might identify where you are?"

"Hmm... gimme a minute. Let's see. I think that one says... Amsterdam Avenue? And I'm standing outside of a McDonalds. But Chloe seriously you don't have to come! I'll just call a cab. As soon as I figure out how to use this phone thing."

"No, Beca just stay there and I'll come get you ok?"

"Fine."

"Good. Just stay there. I'll be there soon."

I jump out of bed and throw on something more street appropriate. A minute ago I was in bed ready to pass out and not wake up, now I'm basically sprinting to my car. I tell myself it's because I'm a good person. I'd do this for anyone who asked. I'd do it for Aubrey in a heartbeat any time other than tonight. On some level, though, I can't deny that I want to know what happened to Beca tonight.

Luckily she's not very far from me. Amsterdam Avenue is fairly short and only a few minutes away from my place, so now it's just a matter of finding a McDonalds. Let's see. Burger King. Pizza Hut. Wendy's. Pizza Hut. Arby's. Pizza Hut. Since when are there so many Pizza Huts in Atlanta? There we go, McDonalds. And sure enough, there's a short brunette girl sitting outside looking like she has no idea where she is. I pull up right outside and roll down the passenger side window.

"Beca?"

"Chloe! Wow you actually came for me!"

"Of course I came for you. Now come on, get in."

Without a moment's hesitation she attempted to obey. Of course, her drunken body had other ideas, as it barely allowed her to stand. I turn off the car to help her up.

"You realize how you smell right? Or is that the liquor coming off of me?"

"No that's real," I laugh, hoping to change the subject, "you've had a lot to drink tonight haven't you?"

"Wayyyyyyyyyy too much."

"But you weren't home. Where were you?" I ask as I finally get her through the passenger door and buckle her seatbelt.

"I was at Jesse's house."

Jesse's house? Why was she at Jesse's house?

"What were you doing there?"

"Things I'm gonna regret when I wake up hungover tomorrow morning."

"Ok, let's start from the beginning. How did you end up there."

"Well, I was thinking a lot about what we talked about, and I wanted to try to sort some things out, so I texted him and he texted me and we started talking and I decided to go hang out with him tonight and just let him know what was going on with me. Then I got there and it was weird so we started drinking, and then one thing led to another and we started fighting."

"Fighting? Over what?

"Over everything! He just can't let anything go!"

"So he still loves you?"

"He was like, 'you obviously still love me or else you-'"

What was that pause?

"Or else you what?"

"I don't want to get into the he said, she said, he said again, but basically we ended up having sex."

"You what?"

Why is this disappointing me? This might be good for Beca, she might have actually figured some things out._  
_

"He was all like, 'you have to do this, to prove who you love' and I was thinking like, 'shit, I don't know,' and then I was just like fuck it I have to do this. So I went into his room and we fucked."

Prove who she loves? Did she tell him about her recent... discovery? Was she being specific? This is driving me crazy, and I can't exactly ask about it.

"Did... did you like it?"

"No! It was like, bleh," she said, emphasizing the last syllable, "so then he fell asleep and I realized I had to get the hell out of there, so I did and I knew I couldn't drive so I just started walking and here we are."

I'm suddenly relieved. On some level I like the idea of her walking out on Jesse. Well, it's official, I'm a horrible person.

"Wait, so when did you call me?"

"It was right before we had sex, and he was waiting in his room and I didn't know what to do, so then I thought 'Chloe! She'll know what to do!' So I called you, but you didn't pick up, so I panicked and went in there."

A moment of silence passed. Suddenly, she was bawling. It was a horrible combination of heartbreaking and adorable. Well... maybe not adorable, but definitely somewhat pleasing. I cherish these rare, vulnerable moments with Beca. When her guard is down and she feels like she can just let herself _be_ around me. They come so infrequently and with so little warning and they're usually gone just as quickly as they come. They're bittersweet, I hate to see her like that, but I also love that she lets me.

"What's wrong?" I ask gently.

"Why did he have to be like that? Why couldn't he have just let me sort through all of this alone. It's not fair Chloe! Why couldn't he have just left me alone!"

"Because he cares about you Beca, and even if it hurts now I promise you it will get better."

"But I can't do this! I can't be like this. It's unfair, and I can't live like this."

"Beca, I know that the idea of being a lesbian is... scary. I know you think it's overwhelming, but I promise I'm gonna be there to help you work through all of this. When this is all said and done you're going to be so much happier than you ever could have been before. You're finally going to be able to accept who you are."

"It's not just that. It's not just that it's scary or confusing. It's-"

She stops, clearly feeling that she's gone too far. That's ok, as much as I'd like to hear it what's more important is that she feels comfortable. I'll be there when she's ready.

"It's ok Beca. We don't have to talk about it now if you don't want to. Come on, we're here. Let's get you upstairs."

I basically carry her up to her apartment. She's capable of standing under how power, but we quickly discovered that if left to her own devices she could only make around three or four steps without falling. It takes us much longer than it should, but we finally get her through her front door.

"Why couldn't he have been more like you?" She asks, now slightly more composed though still incredibly wasted.

"What?"

"Jesse. Why couldn't he have been more like you and let me deal with this on my own. He should have been more like you. Everyone should be more like you."

"That's sweet," I blush.

"I mean it Chloe. You're kind of amazing. Like, you make me feel good. And nobody else can do that. You're the only one."

I smile silently. I really don't know what to say. We reach her bedroom after several stumbles and one knocked over table. I attempt to slowly lay her into bed, but she, whether accidentally or intentionally, pulls me down with her. I end up lying on top of her, both of us laughing hysterically.

"Now who's the drunk," she jokes.

"Oh hush Beca," we continue to laugh. I slide over to the other side of the bed as she quietly pulls herself together.

"You really are awesome though Chloe. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"I feel the same way about you."

Though her smile is small, it reveals more than words ever could. Slowly, our heads inch closer and closer together. I lose myself in the moment as her eyes begin to close. For an instant, mine follow suit. Then the switch flips. I jump out of the bed, hoping that I did it quickly enough for her not to realize what had almost just happened.

"Well, I should go."

"Wait, are you sure? We could have like a sleepover," she practically pleas.

"Yea, I think I need to get home," I say sadly, "I'll see you on Wednesday though."

I head towards the door, doing everything in my power not to look back. I know I'm too weak to. Even a moment's hesitation and I would have stayed. That's what I wanted. It's just not what I can have.


	6. Chapter 6

A few things: first of all, I apologize for the delay, real life gets in the way sometimes. Also, I'm sorry about the slightly shorter length of this chapter. I could have written this as one chapter but that would have been close to 10,000 words and honestly I think it'd be better to break up a bit. The next chapter or two (depending on what I decide to do) all fit together. Anywho, I'm not totally satisfied with the result of the last chapter from a stylistic standpoint, I think it strayed a bit too far from the general tone of the story and I'm going to return to a more introspective style. I'm also not totally satisfied with the whole Beca-Jesse exchange, but maybe that's just writer's regret. Oh well, It served the purpose it had to. Anyway, enjoy and review!

* * *

Chloe's POV

_"Are you feeling better today Mommy?"_

_"I am now that you're here baby."_

_I smile brightly. Mom has a way of making me do that even as she lies nearly motionless in her hospital bed._

_"Do you want me to sing for you?"_

_"I would love that Chloe."_

_"You are my sunshine,_

_My only sunshine."_

_Mom joins in as best she can. This is our song. The song she sings to me when I'm sick. The song she sings when I'm sad. It will always be our song._

_"You make me happy_

_When skies are grey_

_You'll never know dear_

_How much I love you_

_So please_

_Don't take my sunshine_

_Away."_

_"I love you baby, and all I ever want is for you to be happy. Don't ever forget that."_

_"I won't mommy."_

And then I shot up in a cold sweat. It was the dream. Of course I'd have it tonight. I turn around and look at my alarm clock. 5:31 AM. Great. I get out of bed to see what's going on outside. If my mood could have been worsened, the thunder storm raging outside did it. Mom isn't happy with me. I could go back to sleep and try to ignore it, but what's the point. I know how this ends.

I throw on some jeans and a warm coat and head out towards the car. No point in turning on the radio, nothing's going to distract me. Honestly this is a long time coming. I know what mom would have said after last night. In fact, she actually did say it, in her own way at least. Mom would have confronted me about this weeks ago.

Not surprisingly, the cemetery is empty, a common theme of my visits. I'm one of the few people who only come to visit after waking up in the middle of the night. Even at a normal hour, I doubt anyone else would come in this weather. It's ominous, being in a cemetery during a thunder storm. I don't believe in zombies or anything, so I'm not particularly bothered, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't prefer to be here under better circumstances.

The headstone looks worn. Well, more so than usual. Maybe it was just the lens through which I'm looking. This isn't a visit, this is a confrontation.

"Hi mom. I know I said I'd come a bit more often, and I guess I have. What has it been, two months or so? A little less I guess, honestly I'm not sure. I've been busy. But that's no excuse, I should visit you more. I know you would for me. Things have been tough lately. Aubrey keeps sending me on dates with these people who... God... I know you'd hate them. Dad wouldn't, but then I've learned to just assume that however he feels is wrong. I guess I should stop rambling though. You know why I'm here."

I stop, unsure if I can continue. I must look bat shit crazy right now. I inhale deeply, trying to organize my thoughts.

"She's just... she's so amazing mom. I know she doesn't know how to show it, but she's so sweet and caring, and she makes me feel like... like I'm the only person in the whole world who matters. When she smiles I know that it's just for me, a rare gift that she offers when she feels like I've earned it. And her music! It's like the soundtrack to my soul. It touches me on a level that I'm not sure I even understand. But seeing her... it hurts so badly, because I know I can't do anything about."

Suddenly, there was a loud boom. A clap of thunder.

"What do you want from me mom! You know I can't, she's a patient! A very scared, very damaged patient who is going through something really hard right now! It... it wouldn't be fair to her."

Another boom.

"You're not being fair mom! I'd lose my job! Dad would never speak to me again! I'd lose everything, all because of your misguided sense of how I should be living my life! This isn't a movie or a song, this is reality! You don't just run off with someone because it feels good, you don't put yourself out there for the world to see. You live the life you're supposed to live and you find ways to deal with it. Why would you put me through this? You're the one who left! You're the one who left me with him, you're the one who wasn't around to help me or teach me or care about me! What right do you have to expect this much out of me? It's not fair!"

The loudest boom yet. I fall to my knees, tears streaming down my face, my head leaned up against the grave. My arms wrap themselves around it, latching on to the last piece of mom left.

"It's not fair mom," I sob, "why did you have to leave me? Why did you have to put me through that? Why couldn't you just be here to hold me, to tell me that it's gonna all gonna be ok even when it isn't? I'm so confused and scared and I have nobody to help me. I think... I think I love her. And there's nothing I can do about it! I just want to go to her and tell her how I feel but I can't. Now I have to go back to my horrible life and pretend that everything is gonna be alright when really I'm dying inside because all I want to do is cry in your arms."

The tears keep coming, they fall so quickly and forcefully that they become indistinguishable from the rain. I stay that way for an indistinguishable time period. Though it could probably be measured in minutes, it felt like days. All I wanted was to not be alone anymore, for someone to hold me and comfort me and tell me that it was gonna be alright. Yet there I was, crying in the rain. No one was coming.

* * *

Beca's POV

"_What hurts the most isn't that you left, or even that you did it without saying goodbye. What hurts most is that you're going to convince yourself that doing it didn't mean anything._"

I stare at Jesse's text for what feels like years. Really, he sent it 41 minutes ago (not that I'm counting). Shouldn't he still be asleep, I mean it's... 5:31 in the morning for God's sake! I get the idea of him waking up and noticing I'm not there, but did he really feel the need to send that message right away? Couldn't it wait until the morning? He really should be asleep.

Then again, so should I. After all, that's what someone who didn't feel anything for the girl who left her apartment several hours ago would have done. I don't even know why I bother with these lies anymore. Who am I trying to convince? Obviously not myself, that ship has sailed.

Jesse was definitely wrong about one thing. What hurt the most wasn't that I convinced myself that it didn't mean anything. What hurt the most was that I finally convinced myself that it did.

Apparently it didn't mean the same thing to Chloe though. There's nothing more sobering than rejection, though the honest to God truth was that the rejection didn't bother me as much as it should've. I'm not particularly demanding in that regard. What was I going to say? 'I love you, let's go get married and have kids and live a perfect little suburban life?' I'm a fucking basket case, she'd laugh in my face. Thing is, I don't even think I need her to love me. I just... I can't imagine not having her around.

I have abandonment issues. I know, try to contain your shock. I'm not going to turn this into some sob story about how I waited up every night with my mom asking 'when's daddy coming home?' He was there, then he was gone. Sure there's more to it, but that's not a conversation I'm even willing to have with myself.

I figured she'd know that. Not the details, those would stay with me forever, but the fact that it would hurt. She reads me like a grocery store magazine, one glance at the cover and she gets all she needs to know. Who cares about the details?

But she left anyway. I may have been drunk but I'm not stupid. I know why she left. That doesn't mean I have to be ok with it. She left me here to ask my nonexistent mother 'when's Chloe coming home?'

That's all I had to cling to as I lie in bed holding back tears. That faint whisper telling me that she'd come back and apologize. For what? She hadn't done anything objectively wrong. She had every right to leave.

She shouldn't have even been here to begin with. She's my therapist. Not my girlfriend. Not my sister. Not my friend. She doesn't owe me anything beyond the confines of her comfy little office. I bet this happens all of the time. The beautiful therapist gets the grumpy hermit to open open and when he (or she) falls for her she gives him some spiel about misinterpreting their relationship and hoping they can go back to normal.

Things will never be normal. For a short time I learned to feel things and now that I have, I'll never be able to go back to cold, bitter Beca. I'm going to be stuck this way forever, clinging to the dream of being with a woman who sees me as nothing more than a client. It's a sick joke, concocted by a universe that apparently has little regard for anything beyond the 'destiny' Jesse won't shut up about. My destiny is clear. I'm going to be alone for the rest of my life. And for the first time, I'm not ok with it. Shame I'm too weak to do anything about it.

* * *

Chloe's POV

I sit in my office, hands gripped to my desk. I'm not quite sure what exactly I should be doing right now. I nervously glance towards the old analogue resting on my wall. 11:48 and 36 seconds. It's been exactly 13 seconds since I last looked. Can you blame me? I know damn well what's supposed to happen at noon.

The key word there being _supposed_. Honestly I'm fairly certain all hell is going to break loose when Beca Mitchell walks through these doors. It should anyway, I deserve it for how I acted.

I'm an ass. I mean that in both the modern, 'I'm an asshole' kind of way and in the Shakespearean 'I'm a dumb ass' fashion. I've done nothing but cry since my little cemetery breakdown. I really am a dumb ass. For the first time in years I feel something and all I can do is ignore it. Maybe that makes me more of an asshole.

I should talk to her about it. I should tell her I'm sorry and at least give her the dignity of a fair explanation of why this can never happen. That would be the courageous thing to do. That's what a normal person would do.

But I'm not a normal person. I'm a woman broken beyond repair charged with fixing those who think I'm healthy. The universe really does have a sick sense of humor.

It's noon. I pace out to the waiting room to see an unusually (even by her standards) distant brunette sitting with her hands clasped together in her lap, eyes glazed to the floor.

"Beca?"

She looks up nervously. This is just as uncomfortable for her as it is for me. She doesn't say a word, she just walks towards my office. I follow in silence, closing the door behind me.

She looks at me longingly. I can see the despair trapped in her eyes as she stumbles upon the words forming in her lips.

"I think we should just listen to music today," she practically whimpers.

I can tell there's more. I can tell she wants to talk, to ask me what could have possessed me to leave her like that. She doesn't want an explanation, nor does she want an apology. She just wants to be understood, but she knows that after everything that happened I won't be able to.

"Ok."

It was awkward. Not like our first meeting either. Her solitude isn't deliberate, it's natural. She can't bring herself to look at me. That's ok. There are no cute quirks to be found. Her motions don't follow the beat. She is stoic, unmoving. It's almost unbearable. Scratch that. It is unbearable. I have to do _something_. I shut off the music after only 20 minutes. She nearly jumps out of her chair.

"What the hell?"

"I don't I think can pretend nothing happened any more," I sigh.

"Who's pretending? Nothing _did_ happen."

I wince. I guess I deserve that.

"You know what I mean."

"You're the one who left Chloe, not me. If you want to talk then talk."

I try to speak, but words elude me. My mouth moves but nothing comes out.

"Figured as much, I should go."

She stands up and heads towards the door.

"Beca wait, you don't understand."

She stops and takes a deep breath before turning around. Tears begin to form on the edges of her eyes.

"I don't understand Chloe? No, _you_ don't understand. My whole life, everyone who I've ever cared about has left me. My mom, my dad, Jesse. Everyone. That's why I am the way am. Because nobody in this whole fucking world is worth trusting, they'll all just leave me in the end. Then you came along and for a while things got better. I started to gain some faith that at least one person was worth letting in. Then, at the moment of truth, you left. Just like everyone else."

"You think I wanted to leave? Beca you're not even giving me a chance to explain."

"What's there to explain Chloe? I don't care what the reason is. I don't care about some Hippocratic Oath you took in med school or some moral code you live by or even if you just don't feel the same way about me that I feel about you. You had a choice to make, you could have stayed or you could have left. You can justify it however you want, but you chose to leave. And now, so am I."

"Beca, please."

With the door slammed. I want so badly to chase after her, but she deserves so much more than that. I can't tell her what she wants to hear, and the last thing she needs right now is more pain. The last thing she needs right now is me. I pull out my phone, better do this now than later.

"Hello?"

"Hi Dr. Mitchell," I say between sniffles, "it's Chloe."

"Oh hi Chloe. How are you doing?"

"I'm doing... well... not very well actually. But that's not important. I'm actually calling about Beca."

"Oh really? Is everything ok?"

"It's... it's a long story. I'm just not sure we should see each other anymore."

"What? But Chloe she seems like she's actually improving."

"I know, but sometimes there are points where there isn't any more that a therapist can do for a patient. I just think that she would be better off seeing another doctor at this point."

"Chloe are you sure? Can we talk about this?"

"I think this is something you should talk to Beca about if anything, that is if she even wants to talk to anyone."

"Ok, this just seems... kind of sudden. Please reconsider."

"I just think this is what's best."

"Well... I guess I'll see what Beca thinks. I'm sorry you feel that way Chloe."

"Goodbye Dr. Mitchell."

"Goodbye Chloe."

We hang up. I try to put my phone back in my pocket when it buzzes. It's a text.

"_Hi, is this Chloe?_"

"_Umm... yes?_"

"_As in, the therapist Chloe?_"

"_Well that is my profession._"

"_Good. I'm Jesse Swanson. Beca Mitchell's... well... I guess you probably know the gist of it._"

"_What do you want?_"

"_To talk to you._"

"_That's WILDLY inappropriate._"

"_And meeting her in the middle of the night isn't?_"

"_She told you about that?_"

"_No, but you just did. I'm actually feeling pretty good about myself now that was really a shot in the dark, can't believe she actually went to you. I actually sent her kind of a mean text hoping it would goad her into doing it._"

"_She didn't, I picked her up, but again, this is all totally inappropriate._"

"_Just meet me for coffee. Please, it's for her._"

"_No._"

"_Look, Chloe, I don't know how much Beca has told you about me, but you should know right here and now that this conversation is going to happen. You can put this off as long as you want, but you either have to talk to me or talk to her. Take your pick._"

"_Goodbye Jesse._"

* * *

Beca's POV

The one benefit to this whole situation is that I can finally drink on Wednesdays again. God this really does prove that I'm an alcoholic now doesn't it? Oh well, history is littered with great alcoholics. I'll probably be the next Winston Churchill or something. Gotta love the effects of alcohol.

Who the hell is knocking on my door. They should know that I'm drinking. I really don't want to get it, but people in my life are far too clingy for their own good. This knock isn't ending unless I answer. I open the door.

"What do you want dad?"

"Can we talk?"

"Must we?"

"Yes."

"Then please, make yourself at home," I say sarcastically.

He walks into the kitchen to see several empty bottles. I've been meaning to throw those away.

"Seriously Beca?"

"Excuse me for enjoying alcohol. Many people do."

"Does this have to do with what happened with Chloe?"

I freeze for a moment.

"What the hell would you know about what happened with Chloe?" I practically shout.

"Easy," he says making a calming motion, "she just told me it'd be best if the two of you stopped seeing each other."

"She would say that," I grumble.

"Wanna tell me why?"

"Not particularly."

"Come on Beca I'm really trying here."

"So am I, I haven't thrown you out yet have I?"

"Damn it Beca for once can you just talk to me about something? I mean I know I'm not perfect-"

"No, you're not. You're not close. And neither is Chloe. You two have plenty in common."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You left, and so did she. It's deja fucking vu."

"Beca I really don't know what you're talking about here, you're going to have to explain."

"Do I really have to spell this out? Ok fine, we were doing great, I fell for her, we almost kissed, she left. Are you happy?"

"Wait... what?"

"It's exactly as it sounds. I was actually starting to get better. I was figuring out who I am, and she was just... well you've met her. You know how amazing she is. She made me feel things that I didn't really understand but they were fucking amazing. Then one night, I got really drunk, she came and picked me up and took me home. We almost kissed, and then she left. Just like everyone else. That's the story."

"Beca... she's your therapist."

"You don't think I know that? God give me some credit."

"No, no, I mean, you know that therapists... well it's common to feel a connection to them. It's not a two-way street though. They don't necessarily feel it back."

"Oh that's not the problem. Apparently she didn't want to leave but did it anyway. Sound familiar?"

"Beca I think you're being a bit unfair here."

"Am I? You should know by now how I feel about people leaving me. How many years have you spent trying to explain to me why it was for the best and why it had to happen? At the end of the day none of that matters. The important thing is that, once again, I'm alone."

"Beca... I-"

"Save it."

"I'm sorry."

"A little late for that isn't it?"

"Way more than a little. There isn't anything I can say or do that would make up for everything that happened. I hate having to see how much I've hurt you. But I'm here now, and I want to do something, anything, to try to make amends. Even if it will never make up for everything I did. I just want you to be happy."

"I don't think there's anything either of us can do about that now."

"Do you want my advice?"

"Go for it."

"Don't give up as easily as I did. If... if you really feel this way, and you think she does too, then you deserve to go for it. I can't guarantee she'll say yes or it'll work even if she does. But you have to try. If you don't... well... you end up a cold, middle aged man who can't even get his daughter to spend time with him. Just go talk to her. Let her know how you feel, and even if she turns you down at least you won't have to spend the rest of your life wondering what could have been."

He turns around to leave.

"Dad?"

"Yea?"

"Umm... thanks."

"You're welcome Beca. Good luck. And by the way, I didn't know you liked girls. Just so we're clear, I'm cool with it."

"I sort of figured, but I guess it helps to hear it officially."

"That's what I thought. Now go get her."


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey everyone. Sorry for the delay. I was away last week, but now I'm back and updates should become more regular. Anyway, While you're here, I'd like to ask you guys to please check out my new story, ****_Forgetting Beca Mitchell_****. It's not Bechloe, and you shippers out there might vomit at the notion of what it actually is, but I think it's a cool idea and worth at least a look. Anyway, this chapter is kind of a big deal so I won't make you wait any longer. Enjoy and review!**

* * *

Chloe's POV

Work has become a constant battle between my fear of getting fired and my near complete apathy. That sounds bad, I'm not entirely apathetic and I do want to help my patients, but it's hard to be too invested after what happened the last time I cared about a patient. These have been some of the longest days of my life. I decide to go ask the receptionist what the rest of my day looks like.

"Hey Stacie, who's my next patient?"

"Greg Benson, he's new."

"Is he here?"

"Yea, he's in the waiting room."

"Ok, thanks Stacie."

I walk into the waiting room to see only a tall, decently built man with brown hair. He's certainly attractive, and based on the way he's dressed he's probably doing pretty well for himself. He's young, not the type of person I usually see here.

"Greg Benson?"

"Yes?" He answers.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Beale. Please come with me."

We walk into my office. His strides are confident, bordering on forceful. Definitely purposeful. This might be interesting. We take our seats and I break the silence.

"So, I have to ask, you don't seem like one of my usual patients. What brings you here today?"

"Oh believe me doctor I'm messed up. I'm the type of person who will make an appointment with a therapist under a fake name just because she refused to speak to me otherwise."

Well this is confusing.

"Please, allow me to reintroduce myself. Jesse Swanson," he says, extending a hand to be shaken. After a few seconds, he realizes I won't reciprocate and lowers it.

"What do you want?"

"Like I said, I just want to talk."

"And I don't. So where does that leave us?"

"Well honestly I think it's in your best interest to speak with me. If you don't I'm gonna walk out that door and make a huge scene about how horrible you are at your job. I mean a therapist who won't even talk to a patient? I mean there's unorthodox, but that's taking a bit too far don't you think? Sure you could tell them the truth, but I doubt you want to deal with explaining this whole situation to your bosses."

I sigh. He's right.

"You realize lying to me wasn't a great start right? I mean my opinion of you was already pretty damn low."

"I'm sorry I lied, but would you have listened to me any other way?"

He's right. Again.

"Exactly."

"So speak."

"I want to know what the hell is going on between you and Beca."

"I think you know what's going on between us."

"I know nothing."

"Exactly, there's nothing to know."

He can sense my insecurity in saying that. It's obvious.

"Oh bullshit there's not."

"Patients... patients sometimes perceive relationships with their doctor that aren't really there. They feel a closeness because we're trained to make them feel better. It's not real. It's never real."

"Who are you trying to convince, me, or yourself?"

"Who are you to come in here and talk to me like this anyway after what you did. I'm not the villain here, you are."

"I'm perfectly willing to admit what I did wasn't exactly ethical."

I raise an eyebrow

"Ok it was pretty horrible. At the moment though, I didn't have any real expectation that she'd choose me. The way she spoke about you was just... she never felt that way about me. I was really just trying to get her admit to herself that she felt something for you. I never imagined that she'd choose me. When she came into my room I was just... blinded... by what it might have meant. Even if there was only a slim chance of it. I got caught up in the moment, and what I did was wrong. But I want to fix it, I want to help her because she's too dense to help herself and you're for whatever reason not too eager to step in either."

"Not too eager? I'm a therapist. I'm _her_ therapist. I want to help her, but I can't help her with that. Especially when I'm-"

I stop. Shit. Game over.

"When you're what? You can say it. I'm pretty sure doctor-patient privilege goes both ways. Even if it doesn't, I'm not that much of a douchebag. It is after all what I came here for."

"I like her ok? Are you satisfied?"

"Not at all. You like her. She likes you. Really think about that for a second. _She_ likes you. She doesn't like anybody, but she definitely likes you. You make her feel things, you make her happy. I've spent the better part of my life trying to do that and failing miserably. If you feel the same way, then you're being unfair to both of you by denying yourselves the chance to be happy."

"I'm a doctor. I'd lose my license."

"Is that really such a big deal? What's a job vs. finding that special someone? Look, I'm not telling you to make this decision right now. Take some time, really think about it. Consider what it might really mean to be happy. I think you'll make the right choice."

* * *

Chloe's POV

I hate that I don't have anywhere else to turn. It's not like I can go to my brothers with this. I don't have any other friends I'd feel comfortable discussing this with. As much as I hate her right now, I really don't have any choice by to talk to Aubrey.

We've avoided each other since the incident. Normally that'd be a difficult task considering we share an apartment, but with someone as stubborn as her it's been surprisingly easy. I guess she realizes I need my space. I give her bedroom door a small knock before entering.

"Hi."

"Chloe? What's up?"

"Can we talk."

"Sure."

I take a seat next to her on the bed.

"Before we say anything, can I just say I'm sorry," she says to my surprise, "I was out of line. And I'll replace the sweater."

"Don't worry about that, it's not like that was the first time you've thrown up on me."

"Don't remind me," she groans.

"But... umm... I don't think you need to worry about the first part either."

"What?"

"I... you were right."

"Right? About what?"

"I... think I have feelings for her. Actually, I don't think. I do."

"I knew it," she says almost satisfied with herself, "but I was still wrong. I was a total aca-dick about it. So do you know what you're gonna do."

"I mean... I don't really have a choice here do I?"

"Well... you always have a choice, you just have to accept the consequences of that choice."

"So lose my medical license, get disowned and maybe murdered by my father, all for a girl with the emotional capacity of a mushroom?"

"If that's what you want, then yea."

"How do I know?"

"You think I'm the right person to ask that?"

"It's not like I have anyone else."

"Well... I'm not gonna try to make this decision for you. You've made it abundantly clear that you don't want that. I guess... just do what feels right. Even if you make the wrong decision, you won't have to wonder what might have been."

* * *

Beca's POV

How did I end up here? Standing outside of Chloe Beale's door, fist frozen inches away from the cheap metal frame. I know the specifics, the borderline creepy ordeal I went through just to ascertain the address, but as I stand here really running through the notion of what this means, I can't help but think back to a time when things were so much simpler.

And really, simpler is the only word that could describe it. Things were easy, they made sense. I was unhappy, but I was satisfied with it. I woke up and got drunk, lather, rinse and repeat. Hell, even when I was with Jesse I settled into a pretty simple routine of seeing him enough to keep him off of my back while also giving me time to work on the music I've long since forgotten.

I'm happy when I'm around Chloe, at least I used to be, but it definitely isn't simple. Her words linger in my mind like a stale fart. I used too tell myself I was too lazy to reach for the febreze, that was how I dealt with it. It made things simpler. Easier for a feeble heart such as my own to accept.

Now I've accepted that this is where I'm supposed to be, and even if she breaks my heart at least it means I had a heart to break to begin with. So I knock, fully aware that the answer might destroy me. She opens the door dressed simply in a T-shirt and sweatpants. I don't blame her, it's nearly 11:00 PM. Besides, she looks as beautiful as ever.

"Beca?"

"Hi."

"What... what are you doing here?"

"I... I think I want to talk."

"You think?"

"Ok, I do want to talk. About... everything."

"Ok. Come in."

She leads me into her living room. I take a seat on the couch, she heads for the kitchen.

"Roommate here?"

"No she's away on business. Can I offer you something to drink?"

"No, I don't think I'll have the courage to say what I'm gonna say for much longer so I think I need to just get it out."

She puts the orange juice she was about to pour back into the fridge and walks back into the living room before sitting down on the seat across from mine.

"Ok. What do you want to say?"

"Chloe... God this is hard. I don't really know where to begin."

"Just tell me what you feel."

"It's just... I've been alone my whole life. I know my dad didn't leave until I was nine, but he was never really there. He was cold and distant and just never interested in me when I was a kid. But you've met him, and I saw glimpses of it in social situations, to everyone else he was the life of the party. It killed me, my dad loved everyone, but he never loved me. It always made me feel... worthless. If my own father couldn't love me, why would anyone else?"

"Beca I didn't-"

"No, please Chloe let me finish. Then I met you and, even though I had been with Jesse, you were the first person who ever actually made me feel... like I was worth something. Like there was a real person underneath all of my bullshit and you really cared about helping her. You really cared about me. And then you left after we almost kissed and it just reminded me of how worthless I am. How could I have ever thought someone like you could care for someone like me. I mean look at you. You're perfect. Not even in the annoying, clichéd movie way, you're actually a flawless human being. You graduated medical school, you're like the most sweet, caring person in the entire world, and it's almost unfair how beautiful you are. Most of the time I have to avoid looking you directly in the eyes because I know if I do I won't ever be able to stop."

"Beca... that was... wow... that was the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."

"Exactly. You deserve someone who never stops telling you things like that, who treats you the way someone as amazing as you deserves to be treated. Sure, there are other reasons this could never work. You'd lose your job for example, and that made it easier to swallow at first. But really, it just comes down to the fact that I'm not the person you deserve. For awhile I deluded myself into thinking that I could be, but who the hell was I kidding? I'm like the opposite of you. People like me don't get people like you. In fact, for most of my life I wasn't even aware there were people like you. Maybe there aren't, maybe you're just the exception. I mean, you made me think that you actually liked me. Maybe that's why this hurts so badly. I wanted so badly to believe that it was true, but you leaving just kind of reminded me that it never would be. And even though I know this conversation is going to end badly for me, I just... I need you to know that."

"Beca... I see how you feel. But I want you to know that you're wrong. Not about everything, but about a lot of things."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not perfect. I'm not even close. The truth is, the person you know, that's just a front. It's the person I taught myself how to be to hide how unhappy I am. I'm miserable Beca."

"Why?"

"It all started when my mom got sick. When she died, all I had left was my dad, and he's horrible. He made me take an IQ test when I was four years old. It said I was a genius. Like, a bonafide genius. He wanted to put me in kindergarten right away, my mom refused, thinking it would be hard for me to fit in being so much younger than everyone else. When she died, my dad pushed me way too hard. I skipped two grades, was punished for scoring anything less than 100 on any assignment, it was absolutely terrible. So when I was a kid, I taught myself how to smile and pretend like I was always happy because I knew that was the only way I could make friends. Who would want to hang out with the girl who was making them look stupid by getting straight A's and being younger than them?"

"Chloe-"

"No Beca, I let you finish, please do the same for me."

I nod.

"Eventually I fell into a comfortable routine. I met my best friend Aubrey when I was 10, she came from pretty much the exact same situation. We bonded over that, so when we went to college together at 16, we really started to realize what we felt for each other. But before we even got the chance to try anything, my dad went absolutely insane. He wouldn't stop yelling about how wrong it was and how I needed to 'straighten up.' We weren't meant to be together, but we really cared about each other and it hurt that I didn't even get a chance to see where it went. I don't even know who I am."

This is starting to sound kind of familiar. Maybe we have more in common than I thought.

"I buried myself in music after that. Aubrey and I joined an a capella group, and I just fell back in love with singing. It was something I'd done my entire life, but hadn't really had a chance to do seriously until college. I was really considering quitting everything and just running away to try to become a singer, but like I told you, I got nodes. I wanted to get them treated right away, but my dad dragged his heels, telling me to wait until med school applications were over. By the time I got them treated, it was too late. I think he knew what I was thinking. I think he knew that if he made me wait long enough the nodes would destroy any dreams I had of becoming a singer. So I went to medical school, and I hated it at first. I didn't even really have a choice, my whole life I was raised to be a doctor because 'Beales are winners.' My brothers had sports and politics, so I guess that left medicine to me. I finally got my dad to compromise and allow me to make psychiatry my concentration. I told him it was because I could eventually turn it into an academic career, but really, I just wanted to try to make people happy. Kind of ironic isn't it?"

"I don't think so."

"What do you mean?"

"Chloe, I don't care about your past, or who you used to be, or even who you think you are. I care about how you make me feel. The person I've gotten to know over these past few months, that couldn't have been fake. I think it's who you really are, or at least who you were supposed to be before you lost your mom, but life just sort of buried it under all of the other bullshit that made life so horrible. I know things have been hard for you, and I know how easy it is to just shrug and say 'my dad fucked me up' and give up, but I've gotten to know the real Chloe over these past few months and I know that no matter what she thinks, she's the greatest person I've ever met. You said it yourself, you wanted to make people happy. That's who you really are."

Every word out of my mouth is like a dagger in my heart. I can compliment here until the cows come home, that won't change anything. She smiles sheepishly and looks at me.

"I guess you just bring out the best in me," she says softly.

"And you in me."

"You got something else wrong though."

"Oh yea?"

"You said this conversation was going to end badly for you. I respectfully disagree."

"What do you mean?"

"I'll show you."

She stands up from her seat and I follow. She walks towards me, slowly. She wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me in. Our lips meet.

* * *

**In case you're wondering, no, this is not the end. There's plenty more to come. There will be plenty of drama, but I'll throw in some fluff to be nice. Anyway, hope you enjoyed!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Writing this at the same time as my other story, Forgetting Beca Mitchell, is becoming a serious mental pain in the ass. It's very hard to maintain Bechloe in one story and completely destroy it in another. Oh well, I guess it's a fun challenge. This is just one of my drabbles though, I guess that's the tax you pay for reading my stories. Anyway, I'm not entirely sure what the legal ramifications are for a therapist dating a patient are, so I took some creative liberties. I can't imagine I'm too far off. Oh well, anyway, the drama is taking a break, but believe me it'll be back. Here's a nice, feel good chapter. Enjoy and review!**

* * *

Beca's POV

She's kissing me. SHE is kissing me! I'm sorry if I sound like a school girl right now, it's just so hard to believe. She's doing this entirely of her own accord. She easily could have thrown me aside, but she didn't. She actually likes me. It's so hard to believe that it takes my body a moment to catch up to my mind. As soon as it does, I kiss her back gently, allowing her to take the lead. It's soft, but firm. I can tell she has wanted to do this for awhile, but she's also careful not to overstep any boundaries. So am I, I'm still not quite sure what exactly is going on. So when the kiss ends, I'm sure to bring that to her attention.

"So..."

"Don't look at me I'm just as confused as you are."

"Sorry I'm just guessing you'd have a better idea of what happens here."

"Well to be honest I never really expected us to even get here, so there wasn't exactly a plan in place."

"You didn't?"

"Well... yea. Don't look so shocked I know that's what you assumed when you came over."

"Yea but I kind of felt like all bets were off when you kissed me. I don't exactly know what to think right now."

"Well it's not like you have to worry, I did just kiss you after all."

I breathe in relief. I know it's stupid, but that whole exchange didn't exactly make me feel optimistic.

"So what changed your mind?"

"A lot of things."

"Like..."

"Like... your friend Jesse coming to my office and forcing me into an uncomfortable sit down for starters."

"He did that?"

"Yup, it was actually pretty brilliant of him. He made an appointment under a fake name and threatened to make a big scene if I didn't at least hear him out."

"Yup, that's Jesse."

"I have to say I had the wrong impression of him. He's a really nice guy. I'd say it was a shame you two didn't work out but," she gestures back and forth between both us, "yea."

"So what else?"

"Well my roommate finally got on board with team Beca. I also had a dream about it."

"A dream?"

"I've opened up about a lot of things, but I'm not ready to open up about that."

"Fair enough. Anything else?"

"Well... ultimately it just came down to one thing. I want to be happy. I've been fighting it for so long, letting so many other things get in the way, and I'm just sick of it. I'm tired of being sad and alone. You make me happy Beca."

"You make me happy too Chloe."

We smile. Not exuberantly or seductively, just, contently. This feels right.

"So," I ask, "are we... girlfriend and girlfriend? Do I have to woo you first? Take you out on dates? Wait outside of your window with a boom box?"

"Well first of all, you will have to woo me," I roll my eyes jokingly, "I expect candlelit dinners and massages upon request. I'm just high maintenance like that."

"If you're ok with candlelit Taco Bell and electronic massagers providing the massages I think we can make that happen."

She laughs. God she has such a beautiful laugh. The concerned look on her face washes over it almost unfairly.

"There is something else we need to talk about though."

"Your job?"

"Yea."

"I kind of figured."

"It's just... well... you know the risk that I'm taking here. I could lose my license. Hell, I might even get arrested. I'm really not clear on what the rules are with this."

"We can keep it a secret. I mean, why would they even bother looking?"

"It's not that simple. I mean... every time we're in public together I'll be scared. We wouldn't be able to enjoy dating because I'd be too busy looking over my shoulder."

"I get that," I say somewhat disappointed. It's not that I'm overly romantic. In fact, I'm far from it. But I liked the idea of being with Chloe... for real.

"I know what you're thinking," Chloe says, "you're pretty easy to read you know."

"Well... can you blame me?"

"I guess not, but I want to be clear about something," she says, taking her hands in mine, "you are not my dirty little secret. You're my girlfriend. That is, if you still want to be."

"Of course I do."

"Good, because I don't want to be with anyone else. What we have Beca... I know it's early... but it feels like the real thing. Do you feel the same way?" She asks, sounding incredibly insecure. It's almost cute. Hell, it's downright adorable, but I can't acknowledge it. I don't want her to feel that way. Still, I'd be lying if I said I didn't take _a little_ bit of pleasure in being able to stir such feelings in such an amazing woman.

"I do. God Chloe, of course I do. I'm probably going to do a lot of things over the course of this relationship that piss you off, but you will never have to question how I feel about you."

"Good," her smile is so warm that it could probably melt an iceberg.

"So I guess we have some things we should probably figure out."

"We do."

"Do you think I should come back to therapy?"

"I think it would be best, it would help us maintain our cover."

"Yea I agree. I just wish I had an answer for this date thing."

"Me too, but hey," she says, maintaining that warm smile, "as long as we're together, we can make it work. As much as I'd like all of those normal, gooey, romantic things, I don't need them. You're all I need."

"I feel the same way," finally producing a smile that matches hers both in warmth and size, "so, I guess I should probably head-"

"Nope."

"What? You don't even know what I was gonna say."

"You were gonna leave. You're not going anywhere tonight."

"Are you sure? I mean, we should probably take this slow."

"I'm sure. We don't have to do anything tonight Beca. We can just cuddle and talk and watch stupid movies. All I ask is that you stay. I really do want to make up for last time. I'm not gonna risk losing you again."

"Ok. I'll stay."

"Good. Now," she gestures towards a rack of DVDs that somehow all seem to feature Katherine Heigl, "which are we watching first?

* * *

Chloe's POV

I've never felt as safe as I do right now, feeling the warmth of Beca's arms embracing me. She's long since fallen asleep, and that's ok, she's just not Rom Com kind of girl. Honestly I'm getting far more pleasure out of just watching her sleep. She's so peaceful, so calm. Sleep is the ultimate clean slate. There is no past, there are no memories, you are simply there, letting the world turn without you. The smile on her face isn't lost on me. This means as much to her as it does to me. Good. It's nice to know that I'm needed, because really, among the many, many flaws with Aubrey's parade of douchebags was a common sense that I was simply a number to those assholes. I may be a number to Beca too, but at least I know that number is one. The only one. God she's like physical poetry. I hate to stir her from her slumber, but I'd kind of like to continue this in bed.

"Beca, honey, wake up."

"Wha," she says groggily.

"You fell asleep."

"No, no, the guy got the girl right? I totally know what happened."

"It's ok, you were adorable."

"If I was so adorable why'd you wake me up?"

"So we can move to bed."

"What time is it?"

"I don't know, but the sun's still down, so at least it's night."

"Ok, let's go to bed."

"Want me to carry you?"

"That would be nice."

I scoop her up in my arms, careful to be as gentle as possible. She really does weigh like 60 pounds. I'm gonna have to start feeding her.

"IOU one carry," Beca mumbles.

"I'll hold you to that," I say as I lay her down in bed.

"Later, though, now it's time to sleep."

"That's kind of why I put you in bed silly."

"Good, but tomorrow or something."

"Oh no I'm gonna wait for the right time."

"Ok, just lemme know," she says with a large yawn. She obviously wants to drift off to sleep. I don't even bother changing, I simply slide my sweatpants off and lay down next to her. I rest my head on her chest and let her wrap her arms around my waist. I don't know how I ever slept without her.

* * *

Chloe's POV

It's Tuesday. Wow, it's actually Tuesday. The weekend flew by pretty quickly. Beca and I stayed in. We ordered takeout, watched TV, talked about our lives, pretty standard new-couple things. We still haven't figured out the date problem, but that'll come with time. The fact that she's even willing to put up with me despite placing such an unreasonable strain on the relationship is incredible. I really do owe her for that. Speaking of which, I should probably call her father. He'd want to know that we're... starting therapy... again. I pick up my phone and dial.

"Hello?"

"Hi Warren, it's Chloe."

"Chloe! How are you doing today?"

"I'm actually doing very well thanks, and you?"

"Very well thanks."

"So I wanted to tell you that Beca and I talked and she's decided to start coming back to therapy."

"That's great, I'm glad you guys could... work things out."

"Yea, I just think we needed to talk and sort it all out. I'm really glad she gave me a chance to explain myself. I guess we both had a lot we had to get off our chests."

"I'd imagine you did, considering everything she told me."

"She... what did she say?"

"Relax Chloe, I know."

"You do?"

"Yea. She told me everything and I told her to go for it."

"You did?"

"I did. I want her to be happy, and you do that for her. I'm not going to lie, this whole thing seems a bit odd to me, but I trust you. I know you're not taking advantage of her."

"Believe me sir, I would never."

"Good. I'm happy for you guys. It's nice to see that Beca has finally found someone. Even when she was with Jesse it didn't feel... right."

"I think that we're right for each other. In fact, I know it."

"Good, and she does too, at least if what she said was any indication. Just... you know how fragile she is Chloe."

"Yes."

"Just... please don't hurt her, ok? I'm taking kind of a big leap of faith here, I believe in you and I know you're not the kind of person who would ever do this without really knowing what you felt, but it's still kind of unusual. I just want to be sure that my daughter isn't going to get her heartbroken over this."

"You don't have to worry about that sir," I state firmly, "I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

Beca's POV

I've been working for the past... I don't even know how many hours. What time is it? I look at the clock, 8:19? Have I really been going at this for two hours straight? Wait, that says PM. Crap, I've been doing this for 14 straight hours. Don't ask me how my sleep schedule got so messed up, it happens when motivation strikes. And boy, did motivation strike. I've finished the big project, now I'm just throwing something together for the sideshow. Speaking of which, I pick up my phone and go through my contacts, hitting Amy's number and waiting while it rings.

"DJ Mitchell!"

"Hi Amy."

"What brings you to my cellphone today?"

"Well... I kind of have something to tell you."

"Go on..."

"Well... if you'll have me... I'd like to come back to work tomorrow."

"YOU'RE COMING BACK?!"

"I guess so."

"Hey guys she's coming back!" Amy shouts, not intended to be heard on the phone. Suddenly, cheers erupted on the other end. Apparently Beca was more missed than she thought.

"Wow you guys really miss me over there huh?"

"Beca we've had Benji running our music since you left. _Benji_! For God's sake we spent three hours looking for a hamster after a show last week."

"Oh come on you're a legitimate radio station surely you could afford to bring in another DJ."

"We could, but it's been more fun watching Benji do it."

"You're kind of an awful human being you know that?" I laugh.

"True, but I'm like awesome awful, so it cancels out... or something."

"Your logic astounds me. Anyway, you go on at 5 so I think I can be there any time after 1."

"Just show up when you show up and bring us new music. I'm sick of the old crap."

"Wow, you're kind of making me reconsider."

"You know what I mean, just bring that sexy ass of yours back here tomorrow with some music we can play. And if you have any mouse traps, that would be great."

"Benji lost a mouse too?"

"No, he thought the mouse would draw out the hamster. It didn't work."

"So you haven't found the hamster either?"

"Or the gecko."

"Who's idea-"

"Don't ask."

"Ok, I'll see you tomorrow then."

I hang up. I have to admit it's nice to have something to do for a change. It gives me a sense of... purpose. Like I'm not a complete drain on society anymore. I'll be sure to thank Chloe for that.

* * *

Chloe's POV

It's 11:52. Only eight more minutes! Forgive me for being overly excited, this is just the kind of thing that happens at the beginning of relationships. I'm also kind of excited to play it "nonchalantly" in the waiting room. I like acting, even if it's for the purpose of not arousing suspicion. It was Beca's idea, and I was completely on board. In fact, maybe she's here early. Hell, if it were me I'd probably be here early. I might as well go check.

She's sitting the waiting room with a white plastic bag in hand.

"Err, hello Beca," I try to say casually.

"Dr. Beale," she gives a curt nod as she stands up to follow me. We must look completely ridiculous, it's a good thing nobody's watching. We head back towards my office. Once the door closes I start to chuckle.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing, I just enjoyed being nonchalant."

"You have funny interests Beale."

"You should talk, Ms. 'I go shopping and bring whatever I bought to therapy instead of leaving it in my car like a normal person.'"

"Thank god that's not my real name," she deadpans.

"It'd be really hard to spell consistently. Anyway, what's in the bag."

"Well now I don't really want to tell you."

"Pretty please," I flash my puppy dog eyes. She doesn't stand a chance.

"Fine," she huffs, "for your information, I've solved the date problem."

"You have?"

"Yup, it's so simple. We can have our dates here."

"Here? Really?"

"Think about it, we can lock the door so nobody disturbs us. We have this time anyway so I figured this would be a good way to use it, and if we want to see each other more we can just schedule more sessions. Nobody would think anything of it, I'm pretty messed up."

"Wow Beca I'm impressed, you've really thought this through."

"I have, so in this white plastic bag I brought us lunch."

"Sounds nice, where'd you go?"

"That new italian place across the street."

"Oh yay I've been wanting to go there!"

"What can I say, my girlfriend gets what my girlfriend wants," she says smugly. I love how it sounds. It's benevolently possessive, I'm hers and I like it that way.

"Say it again," I demand.

"Say what?"

"Just the girlfriend part."

"My girlfriend gets what my girlfriend wants."

"It's just nice to hear isn't it?"

"It really is."

"You're so sexy when you say it like that. I have half a mind to take you right here in my office," I feign sarcasm, but really, she is turning me on.

"Probably not the best idea considering who's right outside."

"Damn, you're right. Maybe next time."

"Believe me, we'll have plenty of chances."

"Good to know, now let's eat."

"I'll set it up, I need you to take your computer out."

"Why?" I ask, playfully sceptic.

"Because I have another surprise for you."

"Well I can't wait."

She sets up the food as I grab my computer. As soon as everything's ready, she pulls out a USB.

"What's this?"

"This is my new mix. I made it for you."

"You did?"

"Yup. You motivate me."

"Oh my god that's so sweet."

this really is the best gift she could have given me. She hasn't made music in months, and she started again for me. Aside from the fact that her music is like aural porn, it is quite possibly the sweetest gesture anyone has ever come up with.

"That was the idea. I tried to make it with songs that remind me of you. I wanted to make a Chloe specific mix. Besides, I thought it was kind of nostalgic. We did kind of first get to know each other with music. I hope you like it."

"I'm sure it'll be amazing. So does this mean you're making music again?"

"Looks that way. I'm going back to work after this."

"At the radio station? So I finally get to hear more of your amazing music on my drives home?"

"That's the plan."

"You don't have to do this you know, if you don't want to," I say, trying to comfort her make her understand that I don't care whether or not she's working.

"I know, but I want to. I don't want to be some unemployed alcoholic for the rest of my life. I want to be the person you deserve."

"Oh my god Beca," I get up and walk over to her. I wrap her in an enormous hug. At first she's somewhat uncomfortable, but that may be due to the odd positioning. Eventually, she welcomes it, "this is so best gift you could have ever given me. Thank you so much. I can't wait to hear what you made."

We put it in and starts with a mashup of Titanium and Bulletproof. We settle into an easy rhythm of conversation from there, letting the music dictate our volume and tone. It's a perfect first date, there are no awkward silences or unnecessary questions. We are comfortable and content. This dating in my office thing just might work.

"So what do you think?"

"I think this is the most awesome thing I've ever heard. I know I've said this before, but you really are amazing you know that? I mean, it's kind of unfair how good you are at this."

"Well thank you, I think you're really gonna love the last song."

"I think so too."

A new song comes over the speakers. It is a mix of Just a Dream and Just the Way You Are. The mashup we sang together in my car. What a way to end it.

"Beca it's... perfect. It's just perfect."

* * *

Chloe's POV

Time for my ride home, and therefore time to tune in to Fat Amy in the Evening.

"What's up Hotlanta? Welcome to Fat Amy, that's me, in the evening. We are joined today by our usual crew and staff, but who cares about them they kind of suck. We have BIG news here today. In studio with us, returning to us after several months of musical exile, is our DJ, give it up for the incomparable Beca Mitchell!"

"Wow that's quite an introduction. I'm not sure if I can live up to it."

"You don't have to, one reviewer called Benji "the worst thing to happen to music since Kevin Federline." You just have to get us back to average."

"I think I can pull that off."

"So tell me, what brought you back home? You look happy. Something's wrong, you're never happy."

"What? I can be happy. What's wrong with being happy?"

"It's just an odd look on you, but I like it. So do you have a new boyfriend?"

I panic, almost freezing at the wheel. She wouldn't actually reveal anything on the air would she?

"What? No."

I breathe in relief.

"So what is it?"

"I guess I just have a new clarity in life. I think I've found my muse."

Well that puts a smile on my face.

"That still sounds an awful lot like you have a new boyfriend."

"Amy, I swear on my eventual grave that I do not have a new boyfriend."

I laugh at the joke Beca clearly intended for me.

"Well if you're lying, I'm going to be very hurt. In fact, I might even put you on hamster duty. Anyway, enough chitchat, let's give 'em what they're all here for. Beca, you have a new mix for us tonight don't you?"

"I do."

"So, let's see what you made for us, hit it!"

I fully expect to hear a song I heard this afternoon. I'm shocked to hear something entirely new. It's a mix of Jay Z's 99 problems and a song I'm not sure I've heard before. Whatever this is, while it's good, I can't see any reason either of these songs would remind Beca of me. Suddenly, I see my phone glow on the dashboard. I grab it at the next red light.

"_Don't worry, those songs from earlier were just for you._"

With those words, my heart melt. To the rest of Atlanta, this was Beca's grand return to the stage. To us, it was simply an encore. What she's putting on the air now is just work, what she made for me is music. For the first time in my life, I feel special. I feel understood. I feel loved.


	9. Chapter 9

**One more chapter of fluff before we get back to the drama. I like seeing them happy, sue me. This won't be ENTIRELY fluff though, there will be some things I need to put out there to set up the drama. But those will be small things. This chapter is mostly to indulge my Bechloe needs. Anyway, at the end of this chapter I'm gonna list a few ideas I have for new stories that I will start when this is over. I'm not gonna do it here in case people aren't interested. If you are, they will be at the bottom of the page. I'm curious to hear what you all want me to do next, so if you have an opinion shoot me a review, a PM, a messenger hawk, whatever works. Anyway, here's the next chapter. Enjoy and review!**

* * *

Chloe's POV

"Beca," I said, trying to shake her awake, "it's 2 o'clock. Time to wake up."

"GRtajtima."

"That's good honey, you're getting closer to real words."

"Too 'rly."

"It's too early?"

"Ya," she mumbled, "10 more minutes."

"You said that at 11:30."

"No."

"And 12:15."

"Nuh uh."

"And 1:30."

"Lemme sleep!"

"Are you sure you want to sleep," I move in close to whisper in her ear seductively, "because I'm completely naked right now."

"I'm up!" She exclaims, jumping out of bed. Naturally, she's disappointed to see me fully clothed.

"No fair," she complains, "that's cheating."

"All's fair in love and sleep Beca."

"By that logic it'd be fair of me to go back to sleep."

"Please don't, I'd kind of like you to at least see the sun today."

"The sun's not so great."

"Then just stay up for me Beca, please?"

"Fine."

I love how easily I can get her to do things, but in a totally loving way. I'm not a manipulator, that would be Aubrey's domain. But I am a woman, a very fragile one at that. I like knowing that I'm so irresistible to my girlfriend that she can't deny me anything. It makes me feel special.

"It's your fault I slept so late you know."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I question sheepishly.

"Really? So this doesn't sound familiar? 'You look so sexy tonight Beca.' 'Let's do it again Beca.' 'It would be unfair to single people everywhere if we didn't make it an even five times Beca,'" she imitated horribly.

"Well... in my defense... it's not like you said no."

"True. So much for taking it slow right?"

"We knew each other for several months before this thing started. That's slow enough. Now that I have you I'm gonna take you whenever I see fit."

"Well then, who am I to object?"

"I'm glad you see things my way Ms. Mitchell. Speaking of which," I gesture towards the bed and then back at her, "now."

"Yes m'am."

Just as we get started, my phone starts to ring. I take a look.

"It's my dad."

"Aren't you gonna answer it?"

"Nope, you're more important."

It wasn't a total lie. She was more important, but in all honesty I had been avoiding him lately. Whatever, it's not like I have to do anything for him. I'm an adult, in an adult relationship that he has no right to put a stop to. I push all of that to the back of my mind as I get begin ravaging my girlfriend.

* * *

Beca's POV.

"That was awesome."

"Well, I aim to please," she jokes.

"And you succeed. Keep this up and you might just get me pregnant."

"On the plus side we'd become legends in the lesbian community."

"They'd probably think you were secretly a dude."

"I have no problem with that, you know how confident I am about... all this," she waves a hand across her body.

"You should be," I confirm. She smiles.

"Plus, a little baby Mitchell would be so cute. We'd have such adorable babies."

"Shame biology has other ideas."

"Oh well," she seems genuinely down over this, "at least I have the life size version."

"That you do. Anyway, do we have plans for the day?"

"Well... I kind of have an idea," she says with her "you're probably not gonna like this," face.

"Ok?"

"Well... we've been dating for a few weeks now, and I know it's kind of soon... but I'd like you to meet Aubrey."

"As in, your roommate Aubrey?"

"Yes."

"As in, the girl who doesn't like me and only tolerates our relationship for your sake Aubrey?"

"Again, yes."

"As in-"

"Ok," she says sternly, "I get it. You don't have to do it if you don't want to."

I can tell this is important to her. Aubrey is essentially her family. I've heard the horror stories about her father and her brothers just seem like his little soldiers, so Aubrey really is all that she has. It's not that I'm not comfortable meeting her (which I'm not, but I'll table that for now), it's just that... you only get one chance at a first impression with the family. I don't know if I'm ready yet. But it would mean so much to Chloe. I can see it in her eyes. She's gonna get me to agree to this isn't she?

"Well hold on," I say quickly, "I didn't say NO, exactly."

"So are you saying yes?"

"I'm saying... well... I don't know what I'm saying."

She senses my discomfort and pulls me in closer.

"Come on honey, what's bothering you?"

"It's just... I know she already doesn't like me... and you only get one shot at a first impression. I don't want to screw it up, and I just know that I will."

"Well now you're just being ridiculous."

"Really? Because I think that's a totally valid thing to be worried about."

"Oh it is, for normal couples that are gonna break up in a month anyway. We don't have to worry about that now do we?"

"I don't think we do."

"Good. Now, are you happy with me?"

"Of course I am."

"And am I happy with you?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that question?"

"Then ask it."

"Well... are you happy with me?"

"I'm happier than I've ever been," she smiles, "and that's all that's gonna matter to her."

"So you're SURE she's not gonna hate me?"

"Oh she'll probably still hate you," Chloe warns, "but she'll accept you."

"Will she ever like me?"

"Probably not for awhile. You have to earn her respect."

"How do I do that?"

"The hell if I know," she jokes, "but I'm sure you'll figure it out."

* * *

Beca's POV

"I give up!"

"Come on Beca you're putting WAY too much thought into this."

"I just want this to be perfect. So let's go over this again."

"Honey skinny jeans and a decent shirt will be fine."

"Ok, and on to wine-"

"BECA!"

"What?"

"Just relax. It's going to be fine. Just be yourself and it'll all work out."

"That's what they tell you in elementary school and that didn't work out too well for me either."

"Aww honey were you a loser in elementary school?"

"The other kids just didn't get me," I grumble.

"You're not a loser now though!"

"What makes you say that?"

"You scored this hottie didn't you?" She says, gesturing to herself. She always knows just what to say.

"Touché."

"Now come on, we have to go."

The drive back to Chloe's place isn't terribly long, but I savor every second. We haven't been there since our first few days together. We decided to keep our distance from Aubrey while we developed as a couple. It made sense, after all this was a big meeting. More than that, though, we just thought we could use some privacy. When we arrive, I raise my arm to knock when Chloe shoots me a comforting glance.

"Nervous?"

"Of course."

"Don't worry."

"That's easy to say as the one she likes."

"I met your best friend didn't I?"

"Not by choice."

"Not the point. It'll go well. Or not, but I like you better anyway," she says playfully.

"I'll try to keep that in mind," I respond as I knock. After a few seconds a very tall, slender blonde woman answers the door. She is very professional, almost regal in her stance.

"Bree!"

Chloe jumps at her the moment she gets the chance and wraps her up in one of her Chloe hugs. Apparently she was excited. The blonde woman keeps her eyes on me.

"So you're Beca Mitchell."

"That's me. That means you're-"

"Not impressed," she says somewhat harshly, "an ear spike? What is this 1994?"

"It's ok baby," Chloe says with a kiss on the cheek, "I think it's cute."

Aubrey rolls her eyes.

"Please, come in," she turns and walks, expecting us to follow. We take our seats in the living room, met with an awkward silence.

"So, Chloe tells me you make music."

"Yea, I'm a DJ at KLPX. I mostly do Fat Amy's show."

"I'm familiar with your work, a bit too alternative for my taste."

"So what kind of music are you into?"

"Mostly Ace of Base and things like that."

"Ace of Base? Now who's stuck in 1994," my words are immediately met with an elbow in the ribs courtesy of Chloe.

"What she _means_ to say is that she generally works with new music."

"Yea, er, that's right. Not that I don't appreciate the classics though."

"I see. And you were unemployed before that?"

"Right."

"And you're an alcoholic?"

"Aubrey!" Chloe shouts.

"It's ok Chloe. I'd like to say recovering alcoholic. I don't need to drink when Chloe's around," I silently congratulate myself for the smile currently adorning Chloe's face.

"Did you go to college?"

"I barely graduated high school."

"Have you done anything of note with your life?"

"I once saw Ryan Gosling at Target."

"So that's a no."

Chloe, sensing the discomfort, jumps in to try to make the save.

"Aubrey, why don't we go check on dinner."

"Good idea," she responds. They stand up, but I jump in.

"Wait!"

They both turn around in surprise.

"Why don't I go help Aubrey with dinner."

"What?" Aubrey asks.

"What?" Chloe repeats in shock.

"Yea, just relax Chloe let me take care of this."

"Ok," she says, very unsurely. I stand up to follow Aubrey into the kitchen.

"Look," I say seriously, "I know that you don't like me."

"That's an understatement," she scoffs.

"I know that you think I'm not good enough for her, and that I'm just some failure who's inevitably gonna fuck this up, and there are times when I think that's really the case. Hell, who am I kidding, it probably is. But Chloe makes me want to change. I want to be better for her because I know that's what she deserves."

At the very least, I've gotten her attention.

"So I know you're not crazy about me, and frankly I'm not crazy about myself, but you're Chloe's best friend and you're important to her, which means you're important to me. I'm her girlfriend so I would hope it's the same way on your end. I know it would mean a lot to her if we could at least be civil. So you don't have to like me, in fact, you can keep right on hating me if you want, but let's at least play nice for Chloe because I know this means a lot to her."

Her frown slowly fades, replaced with a look bordering on something positive.

"Well Mitchell, I'll give you this. You certainly haven't earned my affection, but you've earned my respect."

* * *

Chloe's POV

Things obviously started off badly. Aubrey was being... well... Aubrey. Incredibly invasive questions, an overt attempt to be offensive, the kind of things you really don't expect out of someone who just a few weeks ago told me to go for it. I guess she was just being overprotective, she has a great deal of emotion invested in this after all. Luckily, something happened in the kitchen. I don't know what Beca said or did, but they actually seem to be getting along. Maybe they aren't best friends, but that will come with time (if I have anything to say about it). All that matters is that they seem to be civil. We can work out the rest later, this is a miracle in itself. Ever since this development popped up, I've tried to stay out of the conversation a bit. I want them to get to know each other. Now, they're debating the merits of... crap... I've lost track. I've been admiring this from afar, just taking in the emotion. Excuse me for losing track of the conversation when a miracle has just occurred in front of my own eyes.

"What do you think Chloe?"

"Huh?"

"You zoned out didn't you?" Aubrey asks before looking back at Beca, "she does that when she's in a good mood."

"Really?"

"Should've seen her the day she met you. She was sitting on the couch with this gigantic grin and I had to snap her out of it and remind her that she was actually awake."

"Well that's sweet," Beca says, poking me in the side, "so what else did she do the day she met me?"

"She was just... happier. She said she was really excited and that she thought she could help you."

"Well you did," Beca says softly, "so I'll let the blatant breaking of our doctor-patient privilege slide."

"Good to know. What were you like on the day you first met me?"

"I kind of hated you."

"Aca-scuse me?"

"Well not really. My dad called me afterwards and said he knew we would really connect. I didn't really take it seriously, but then I tried to get drunk and felt guilty. I felt like you wouldn't approve, and that made me feel bad. So on day 1 you were just the gorgeous red headed doctor who forced me into sobriety."

"I think it's sweet," Aubrey replies, "it was love at first sight, even if neither of you knew it."

"I guess so," she admits, "so Aubrey, seeing anyone?"

"Not at the moment, no."

"How do you feel about movies?"

* * *

Beca's POV

It's nice to see Chloe like this. It's how I imagined she was with friends. At first she felt a bit reserved, but I'm guessing she wanted Aubrey and I to get to know each other. Now that we've reached a decent level of comfort, Chloe has become a more active participant in this conversation. She and Aubrey really are like sisters, they bicker and disagree, but always with a smile.

"I did not!" Chloe exclaims.

"Chloe, I was there, you did too."

"Ok... MAYBE I did... but you're exaggerating."

"Chloe you got drunk, stole a TV, and ended up dropping it. What is there to exaggerate?"

"... It was a LITTLE TV."

"Ok, I'll give you that, it was small. You should've seen her in college Beca. It was quite an experience."

"I don't doubt it. She's got a wild side."

"Oh come on Beca I know you've done stupid things like that at some point or another."

"I tried to ride a dog once when I was seven. I ended up breaking my foot."

"Oh my god you did not!"

"Yup. It was Jesse's dog. To be fair he didn't try to stop me."

"Well how big was the dog?"

"Would you judge me if I said not very big?"

"Depends on how big is not very big."

"Let's just say not very big and leave it at that," we laugh.

"Well Aubrey, it's your turn."

"My turn for what?"

"An embarrassing story, duh."

"I don't have any."

"Think of who you're sitting with before you say that Aubrey, remember I've known you for over a decade."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Ok, so we'll start with the hot dog-"

"OK! I'll tell one," Chloe and I share a knowing glance. In our non existent ESP language, she's telling me that she'll tell me the hot dog story after we leave.

"So I'm assuming Chloe has told you about puke gate."

I nod. I may or may not have used the YouTube video to ease my nerves before coming. It only made me worry that she might throw up on me.

"Well not even Chloe knows this story. It's of the first time I ever threw up out of anxiety."

I'm flattered. She's opening up about something that doesn't feel like the sort of thing she'd joke about. This is a big deal. I think she might actually like me.

"I was seven years old, and we were having our class spelling bee. Eventually, it came down to just me and one other kid. My word was choke, and I didn't know how to spell it. The whole "CH" thing is tough for kids. I literally choked on the word choke. I ended up throwing up all over the first row of people. One kid shouted 'gross! Vomit!'. So I turned to the teacher and said 'I can spell that.'"

Chloe and I shared a look before we burst out in laughter.

"What! I just told you a really embarrassing story!"

"No, no, we're not laughing at you Aubrey," Chloe reassured, "it's just really funny that that's where your mind went right after that happened."

"Yea, don't worry, it's just, well, you have to see how funny that is?"

"That's just so... you, Aubrey," Chloe continued, "only you could continue thinking about the spelling bee after that."

"Well... I guess it is kind of funny."

Once Aubrey settles down a bit and relaxes she's actually pretty cool. In fact, even the overprotective bitch Aubrey has her place. I'm happy Chloe has a friend like this. In fact... not to be presumptuous... I'm happy that I do too.

* * *

Chloe's POV

"Well, it's been great Aubrey," I say sincerely.

"It really has been, and don't worry, I'm gonna give Jesse your number first thing tomorrow morning."

"I'll hold you to it," she smiles. Once we leave, I turn to Beca and give her a big, wet kiss on the cheek.

"What was that for?" She asks.

"For being so awesome! I don't know what you did to get Aubrey to like you, but it worked."

"She's actually pretty cool once you get her on your side. She really cares about you."

"Well, we are best friends. Thank you though, you're an amazing girlfriend."

"Well, you set a really good example."

Our ride home is filled with light chitchat. I tell her the hot dog story (her response was of simple disbelief), and we just try to enjoy each other's company. These are some of the moments I really enjoy about being in a relationship. Being able to enjoy doing nothing, it's what they tell you it's like when you find the one. When we get home we lie in bed. There is no sex, simply warmth. Surprisingly, it's Beca that breaks the silence with a sweet comment. Not that she never does, she just usually needs a bit of prodding.

"Tonight really was great."

"It was."

"It's just... you know... I don't have many friends," she admits sheepishly, "and to see you and Aubrey like that... it's nice."

I give her another kiss on the cheek.

"I think you two are gonna be fast friends."

"I think so too."

"So tell me... what did you do to make her like you?"

"I just said that I knew she was important to you, and that I knew how much it would mean to you if we could at least be civil. She was kind of hesitant, but she agreed and I guess it just... clicked."

We look into each other's eyes for a moment as I try to compose the right words.

"You're... I don't even know what to say. You do so much just to make me happy... you're just... amazing. I love you."

It's too soon. It's obviously too soon. For a moment, I panic. I think she will too. But she doesn't. She meets my gaze and smiles.

"I love you too."

* * *

**New Story Ideas:**

**Basically, I have a few ideas, and I want to know what readers would like to see from me. Here are a few of the ideas I have, listed in order of the likelihood that I actually take them on. Obviously, they will all be Bechloe unless someone gives me a damn good reason not to. **

**- Another superhero story. I'm not totally satisfied with singers and superheroes for a lot of reasons, particularly the ending, and as you can tell from my icon I'm a big superhero person. I have another idea, it would draw inspiration from a lot of places (Beca's origin, for example, would be almost straight out of the show Young Justice), but it would be mainly a story of my own devising that simply draws inspiration from other places, there would be some VERY original comic book changes. It would see all of the major characters as DC superheroes. Aside from the obvious comic storyline, it would focus a lot on character motivation and depth. Why is Aubrey so controlling? Why is Chloe so happy? Where do Beca's boundary issues stem from? I want to explain these in superheroic ways, and I think I have a cool outline in place. Also, I have an idea of how to make the a capella somewhat meaningful in a superhero world (though obviously, it's still a capella) which I think was a problem in my first superhero story. **

**- A crime story. There are two ideas here. The first is in the vein of Breaking Bad, when Chloe's mother gets sick she uses her science skills to cook crystal meth, but as a goody goody she needs the help of ne'er do well Beca Mitchell to actually sell it. I also considered reversing the roles and having Beca start cooking when her father leaves, but it didn't feel right to make Chloe the Jesse (Pinkman, not Swanson) of this story. The other would have Chloe as the daughter of a mafia boss. She is engaged to the son of a rival boss as a sign of good will, but when Beca is hired to DJ the engagement party things get... complicated. I'm not particularly attached to the idea of writing either of those stories, but I think they're cool, so if anyone else is interested in writing either of these let me know and you have my blessing. **

**- A period piece. I don't have a specific time in mind, but I've always thought the idea of taking this story to a different era would be interesting. What if the Bellas existed before homosexuality was accepted and women had rights? Would they be able to compete? How would Chloe and Beca have a relationship? It's just something I think would be kind of cool to explore, a few places I have in mind would be late '30's Germany, the roaring 20's in the US, and maybe something even further back like England in the 1700's. This one isn't very developed, but it'd be something I'd consider tackling under the right circumstances. What I'd really want to explore here is the overcoming of social obstacles and how these two characters would come together in an entirely different world.**

**- Suggestions. If you have an idea, don't be afraid to tell me. I'm open to anything. **

**Anyway, if you have an opinion let me know. **


	10. Chapter 10

**First of all, thanks for all of the suggestions in terms of my next story. I have to say I wasn't really considering the period piece too heavily, but people seemed to be really interested so I might think about it now. Like someone said, the dialect thing would be a big issue though. As for someone who asked about Marvel superheroes, I'm just not as knowledgeable. Besides, there are two really good Avengers stories already, so I would rather even the scoreboard with DC. Anyway, here's Chapter 10, the plot thickens. Enjoy and Review!**

* * *

Chloe's POV

I'm nervous. Why shouldn't I be nervous? It's rare that your boss asks you to meet him in his office just to talk. I'm probably getting fired today. God, or worse. My relationship with Dr. Phillips isn't great. Well, at least on my end it isn't. He's been hitting on me since my first day here. I don't think I can be anymore clear about my lack of interest, but he still seems to think that I might at least grant him a pity bang. I'd file a sexual harassment complaint, but somehow I doubt that would help my career. Besides, it's bearable after six months or so. You just get used to it. I give a slight knock to his already open door before letting myself in.

"Dr. Phillips?"

"Ah, Chloe, please come in," he says with a rather large smile.

"So what can I do for you today Dr. Phillips," I'd like to get right to the point.

"Well, it's been awhile since we've had a performance review, so I figured it was about time."

"So how does everything look?"

"Well... as you know we had a bit of a rough patch several months ago."

"Yes..."

"Several patients left your service, and we were concerned about your future here."

"I can assure you sir, I've made all of the necessary adjustments. Things are going much better with my patients."

"Well you're absolutely right," he says to my surprise, "your performance has been absolutely stellar over the past few months. In fact, I've taken particular note of how your patients have been doing over the past seven weeks."

I panic for a moment. He can't know about me and Beca, but that's such a specific time frame.

"They all rave about you. And I have to say, everyone else here agrees. You just seem... happier, and it's been reflected in the quality of your work."

"Well sir, I think I've just found a new clarity in life."

"Whatever you're doing, it's working," he says, pausing for a moment before leaning back in his chair ever so slightly, "so, I have to ask, are you seeing anybody?"

My heart starts racing.

"Isn't that a bit inappropriate for a performance review sir?"

"Oh relax Chloe, I'm just curious," I breathe in relief, "if you're doing something that has markedly improved your work, I'd just be curious to know what it is. We are psychiatrists after all."

"I can understand that. No, I'm not seeing anybody. I've just had some things go pretty well recently."

"Well that's good to hear. But anyway, on a more professional note, I'd like to go over some of your patient evaluations and see if there's anything we can take from this."

"Alright."

"Here's one from Jake Morrow, who you've been seeing for the past two and a half months correct?"

"Yes."

"Well first of all, you were given scores of five or "outstanding" in every quality, and the review he left was very positive," he says before he begins to read, "'I'll admit it took me a few weeks to warm up to Dr. Beale, but she has been very helpful ever since. Within a few weeks I started to trust her and see how warm and welcoming she was, and I have to say she has been fantastic. I have complete faith in her ability to help me overcome my personal demons going forward.'"

"Well that sounds nice."

"Indeed it does. But that's not even the best of it. Here's one from one of your other patients, Rebeca Mitchell."

I raise an eyebrow in curiosity.

"Oh really? What did she say?" I try to ask nonchalantly.

"I can assure you it is among the very best psychiatric reviews I've ever read. Let's see," he says, trifling through his desk for the card, "ah, here it is. 'Dr. Beale has changed my life. I say not that as a cliché or even as a compliment, but merely as a statement of fact. Before I started seeing her my life was in shambles. I was unemployed alcoholic who was desperately lonely and had not motivation to change. The truth is, I just didn't really care. Then Dr. Beale showed me that I could have more. She taught me that I didn't have to be miserable, that there was a real life out there for me. One where I could be happy. Thanks to her, I'm now gainfully employed, I drink only a moderate amount of alcohol, and most importantly, I am in a healthy relationship with the love of my life. None of this would have been possible without her help. She is the best therapist in the world, and I hope you truly appreciate what a gem you have in her. I owe her far more than I can ever hope to repay, but I hope this can be my small way of thanking her for everything she has done."

I hold back the tears. I'm a professional, damn it. Besides, now is the time to keep my cool. It's 11:30 on a Wednesday, I can thank Beca when I see her in half an hour. Until then, I have to maintain my cover.

"You seem happy," he remarks after a moment of silence.

"Yea... it's just... I know it's unprofessional to say, but she's my favorite patient. It's great to see what an impact I've had on her life."

"It's alright we all have favorites," he jokes, "just keep up the good work."

"Can do, sir," I stand up to leave before he begins to speak again.

"Oh, and one more thing, give my best to your father for me would you please?"

"Of course," I lie through my teeth. It's been several months since I've seen or spoken with him. If I have my way it'll be several months more. But he doesn't have to know that.

* * *

Chloe's POV

"Ms. Mitchell," I state almost as if I'm reading a name off of a list.

"Dr. Beale," she replies with a curt nod.

We head towards my office. I silently want to congratulate myself for my improved stealthiness. It's never been one of my strengths.

"You seem happy," she notes as we sit down.

"Why shouldn't I be?"

"No reason, I'm just observing. I take it you weren't fired?"

"Nope, but we can talk about that later. That's only like .01% of why I'm in such a good mood."

"So what's the other 99.99%."

"Oh nothing much, except for the fact that I have the most amazing, perfect, every other awesome adjective I can think of girlfriend in the whole entire world who is soooooooooo gonna get laid tonight."

"Really? What'd she do?"

"She wrote me the sweetest performance evaluation of all time."

"That's not exactly normal girlfriend behavior."

"Well in our case it is. It was so sweet Beca."

"I'm glad you liked it."

"When did you write it?"

"After our first date."

"So not even a week into our relationship?"

"Should I be embarrassed."

"This is another one of those things that would be true in a normal relationship, but not in ours. You really knew I was the love of your life in less than a week of dating?"

"I knew way sooner than that."

"You really know how to charm a girl don't you?"

"What can I say, I'm a woman-whore."

"I think that just makes you a whore dear..."

"You know what I mean. I'm a chick magnet, happy?" I love how defensive she gets over the littlest things. It's adorable.

"Very. Is there some way I can evaluate your performance?"

"I think your insistence on playing my mixes when we have sex does that pretty well. I've heard so many renditions of Titanium in the last two months that I'm honestly starting to lose my love for the song."

I give her a playful whack on the shoulder.

"That song is my lady jam!"

"You don't have to tell me twice."

"I guess I don't," I sigh in happiness, "things are going really well Beca. Just... everything. It's perfect."

"I know what you mean."

"It's just so nice. You're working again and you're doing amazingly just like I expected. You're not drinking as much, and you just seem like you're in such a better place then when we first met."

"I couldn't agree more. My life has honestly never been better than it is right now."

"Neither has mine. I mean, aside from all of your awesomeness, my whole life is just clicking right now. Especially with work. It feels like I'm actually enjoying this for the first time in... maybe ever. It's almost like I remember why I got into this in the first place."

"That's good to hear. It's nice to know I'm not the only one benefitting from this relationship. I'm glad things are going so well for both of us. I know Jesse would kill me for saying this, but I don't see what could possibly go wrong."

* * *

Beca's POV

"And that'll wrap things up here, thanks for listening to Fat Amy, that's me, in the evening, we'll see you tomorrow! Any last words Beca?"

"You keep asking but I never have any."

"Worth a shot, anyway listeners, it's been real. Tune in next for... crap what's next? I don't know, it's good though, so listen."

"Aaaaaaand we're out," Benji said, motioning with his arm that we were clear.

"Great show tonight Amy," I say sincerely.

"You too, my god you're awesome at this. And it's good that you're actually speaking on the air every now and then. People demand to see the face behind their awesome music!"

"We're still on the radio you know."

"Well... hear the face... you know what I mean."

"Yea I get it," I'm about to go on before I'm interrupted by Benji.

"Hey Beca, there's some british guy here to see you."

"British? That's his defining characteristic?"

"I didn't ask him anything he just said he wanted to see you."

"Alright, is he in my office?"

"Yup."

"Ok, thanks Benji."

I go into my office to see what appears to be the Statue of David in living human form. His muscles are bulging, his figure is perfect, if I were into dicks this guy would be gorgeous.

"Hey," I stammer awkwardly.

"So you must be the illustrious Beca Mitchell," he says in a perfect british accent. Damn, this guy might even be able to get me to turn. If I wasn't in a committed relationship of course.

"I've never been called illustrious before."

"I can't imagine why, you're quite good at what you do."

"Well thank you, so did you come here just to complement me or do you have ulterior motives."

"I'm here to offer you a job."

"A job?"

"Yes, well, first of all, the name's Luke," he reaches out a hand to cordially offer a handshake, which I accept, "and I represent Sirus XM radio. We're very interested in bringing you on board."

"To do what exactly?"

"Well, first of all we'd give you your own show."

"I'm listening."

"And we'd also like you to handle the music for some of our other, higher end shows."

"Such as?"

"Have you heard of Howard Stern?"

I have to do a double take.

"You mean _the_ Howard Stern?"

"Yes, I mean _the_ Howard Stern. We'd like you to take over the music on his show."

"What makes you so sure I'm the right choice?"

"Well I'm actually a Barden alum. I listen to Amy's show whenever I'm back in town. Around two months ago I was here and listening to it and the music was just awful. The next day, Amy made her big hoopla about you coming back and it was awesome, so I started doing some research and I found you. I showed your work to some of my bosses and they were equally impressed. We think you're a major talent and we'd like to get you moved out to Los Angeles and started right away."

"Wait, Los Angeles?"

"Well... yes... you didn't think you could operate out of Atlanta did you?"

"Well... kind of. I have a life here you know, I don't exactly want to just get up and leave it."

"Are you sure? This is a once in a lifetime opportunity."

"I'm really flattered that you'd come all this way just to speak to me, but I'm happy here. I have a stable job and a girlfriend who loves me, I don't exactly want to leave all of that for LA. I didn't exactly have a great run out there the first time."

"Well... at least think about it. We're very serious about this Beca."

"I appreciate that. I'll at least give it a thought," I lie, I don't want to let him down so hard right away, I just have no intention of going anywhere, "if you can think of a way for me to stay here and take the job, you have yourself a DJ."

"I'll see what I can do, but don't get your hopes up."

With that, he turns around and walks out. Several years ago I would have jumped at that offer. It was admittedly tempting, but I have Chloe. I'm not giving that up. Though if I'm being honest, I'm not sure I'd take the job even if I was single. There are too many bad memories. Los Angeles left a pretty bad taste in my mouth last time.

There was no dramatic argument that led to me storming out and hopping on a flight to LA that night. Nobody tried to stop me. Mom was gone, dad was wherever he was. I was alone, and LA was my dream. So I went for it.

Thing is, I didn't exactly do much planning. Nor did I have much money. Every cent in mom's will went to paying off her debts. She didn't have life insurance either. I suppose I could have gone to my dad for help, but what good would that have done me? He had no interest in financing my escapades. Ironic considering that's what he did when I came back.

It started with Craigslist. Doesn't everything nowadays? I hopped on and tried to find a roommate. I made it clear that money would be tight, but these people were all struggling actors and musicians, they wouldn't care. I assumed I'd find work pretty quickly and be able to pay my bills that way. Oh how naive I was.

Apparently, nobody's interested in hiring an 18-year-old with no experience. I dropped USBs off at every major radio station and record label hoping someone, anyone, would listen. Hell, Luke probably got one at some point or another. Not that he listened. Nobody ever got back to me. So I tried a different approach.

Club owners are notoriously hard to find. Therefore, I determined I'd start at the bottom. That meant trying to befriend bartenders. Unfortunately, my sunny personality didn't exactly help in that regard. The few who even took my USBs probably just threw them away when I left. Not that I blame them, it's not like I gave them a reason to think I had any musical talent.

Meanwhile, living situations were getting harder and harder to come by. Most of the people I was lucky enough to find on the internet realized within a few weeks that I wasn't good for the money I promised. The little resources I had went to transportation and fast food. Eventually I essentially became a squatter. I'd go into these people's houses because I knew it'd be free lodging for a brief period. I must've lived in between 15 and 20 apartments in that time, and I can honestly only remember a few of my roommate's names. None of them were particularly memorable. Nobody in Los Angeles was really. I found them all to be selfish, stuck up and overall a waste of my time. I know part of that comes from my own cynicism, and I certainly wasn't perfect, but they didn't do much to help either. They were basically the anti-Chloe's.

After a year I just got fed up and left. Again, there was no dramatic moment. It just sort of happened. I honestly didn't have a plan, I just knew I had to get the hell out of there. I figured I'd end up at Wal-Mart stocking shelves or something. But as luck would have it, somebody actually did listen to something I made.

That person was Fat Amy. She was a bit player on a big LA morning show. When the random intern who handled fan submissions gave her boss a pile of CDs, USBs and whatever else people used, she ended up grabbing one to get her through the afternoon. She found mine, and she loved it. Unfortunately, her bosses didn't feel the same way. At least that's what she said, I kind of assumed they just never listened.

But when she was offered her own show in Atlanta, she decided she wanted to give me a shot. One lunch later and we began our meteoric rise to the top of Atlanta's radio charts. Well, she did. I hung around in the background, just grateful to have a job at all. She was the one who found me in the first place, she deserved the credit.

The irony of getting my first big break after I left was not lost on me. I saw the sign. I'm not usually one for messages from above, but that just made me believe I was never meant for LA. And that's ok. I'm perfectly happy where I am. I'm flattered by the offer, but really, I just don't have a reason to take it. I'd think about it if Chloe weren't in the picture, but I don't have too many regrets. I don't see the need to right the wrong of my last venture into the LA music scene. Though I will admit, this is one of the few things that would have at least gotten my attention.

* * *

Beca's POV

We're staying at Chloe's tonight. Not for any particular reason, we just made that decision. The drive home is calm and relaxed. When I walk through the door I'm met with a smile and the smell of a home cooked meal.

"Did you cook?"

"I thought you deserved a reward after this afternoon."

"Go on..."

"I'm making lasagna. A.k.a your favorite. A.k.a I'm the best girlfriend ever."

"You know you gave me that title earlier. We're having some serious continuity issues here."

"I guess we can settle for a tie," she says before placing a light kiss on my lips.

"So is Aubrey home?"

"No, she's gonna be stuck in the office all night. It's just you and me."

"I like where this is going."

"Not until after dinner," she gives a stern warning.

"I can wait."

"Speaking of which, everything looks just about done. Let's eat."

She pulls the food out of the oven while I set two places at the table.

"Everything looks great."

"Of course it does, I'm like the best chef in the world."

"Is there anything you can't do?"

"I've never wrestled with a panda in mid-air."

"That was... oddly specific."

"Maybe it's a life goal of mine," she says, holding her fictional cards close to the chest. That's how our conversation goes at first, light and easy. I decide to wait for the end of the meal to bring up what happened at work.

"So I was offered a job today."

"Really? By who?"

"Sirius XM."

"Like the super giant radio people?"

"Yup."

"What do they want you to do?"

"Among other things they want me to be in charge of the music for Howard Stern's show."

"Oh my god that's incredible!"

"Yea, it would be."

"Why are you saying would be? You HAVE to take this job Beca!"

"It's in LA?"

"What?"

"They want me to move to Los Angeles, I told them no. I'm not leaving you here."

We hear a key enter into the door, but we ignore it. I kind of just assumed it was Aubrey.

"You'd really turn down such a great opportunity just for me?"

"Of course I would Chloe."

We can hear the door open fully and the sounds of footsteps as they make their way into the apartment.

"Well somebody's getting another reward."

She leans in to kiss me, which I gratefully accept. Suddenly, our kiss is broken by a scream.

"CHLOE!?"

We look up to see a middle aged man in a suit staring down on us in complete shock. I can feel the goosebumps forming on Chloe's skin as she realizes who he is.

"Dad?"


	11. Chapter 11

**TRIGGER WARNING: SCROLL TO BOTTOM OF THE PAGE FOR SPECIFICS, DON'T WANT TO RUIN THE PLOT UNNECESSARILY TO THOSE THIS WON'T AFFECT. THIS IS A LIGHT TRIGGER AT BEST, SO DON'T BE TOO WORRIED. NOBODY IS DYING AND THERE IS NO SELF ABUSE, HOWEVER, I THOUGHT I'D LEAVE THIS TO BE SAFE.**

Hey guys, we're nearing the end. This'll have two or three more chapters with an epilogue, and the drama is really gonna heat up here. Anyway, I've decided on where I'm going next. I'm going back to superheroes after this. However, the love for a period piece really got my attention, and it's something I'll definitely look into later. Another thing on that note: I'm considering releasing the first three or four chapters at once to the next story as opposed to one at a time. It would take longer, but I'm curious to see if people would prefer this. Anyway, enough of that, here's Chapter 11. Enjoy!

* * *

Chloe's POV

Where did my hatred for blind dates stem from? Surprisingly, it wasn't Aubrey, though she did play her part. It started when I was 15, which in the Beale home meant I was of "courtship" age. I swear I'm not making that up. Now don't get me wrong, I wasn't trotted about and presented to interested suitors, it just meant I was able to be forced onto dates with sons of my dad's business partners. This wasn't a surprise, my dad prostituted my brothers in much the same manner. It was a fairly common occurrence in the Beale home. Though she never explicitly told me, Aubrey dropped hints that she was subjected to it as well. For all I know this is just how the elite of the south act.

None of us were ever thrilled about this. In fact, my brother Blair was actually in a stable relationship when his turn came up. These dates usually followed a pretty strict itinerary. I'd look pretty, I'd play the play the part, but after about three or four dates the guy would break it off, usually through a conversation between our fathers. I always thought they were cowards for doing that, but then, I guess their position wasn't much better than mine. They knew my heart just wasn't into it, but theirs were. They would be much harder to convince than I was.

For all of his shortcomings, my father is not a stupid man. Ignorant, short tempered, the kind of person you'd never want to be around, but certainly not stupid. After several of these forced relationships failed, he'd done the math and why. Still, he's not one to give up without a fight. Scratch that, he's not one to give up even when the opposing person is putting up a fight. Even when that person is his only daughter.

"Chloe, you're a smart, interesting, beautiful girl. This isn't rocket science, you're the kind of girl that young men should be very interested in. Yet they continue to leave you."

"Yes sir, I am aware."

"You are not doing your part. Clearly, you have not been the kind of partner these young men expected. And I demand to know why. These men are future lawyers and senators and captains of industry. What about them has led you to believe that they are not good enough for you?"

I refused to meet his eye line. My mouth was trembling, goosebumps began to form.

"Speak Chloe!"

"I just... I just don't feel anything for them, sir."

"What does that have to do with anything Chloe?"

"I... I just don't want to date someone I don't like, sir."

The anger on his face was evident. The vein in his neck throbbed, his voice raised several decibels.

"Like? LIKE? Who you like or do not like is no concern of mine, Chloe. Your actions of late have caused irreversible damage to the reputation of this family. Do you think I _like_ that? DO YOU? As a Beale you have certain responsibilities, standards that you must uphold at all times. That does not mean prancing about and doing as you please. That means performing at the level you are expected to in every walk of life. Educationally, physically, socially and romantically. Now I am going to arrange another date for you with a respectable young man and you are going to make it work. Do I make myself clear?"

My silence is louder than words.

"I SAID, DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?"

The tears in my eyes begin to visibly roll down my cheek, leaving emotion stains that will never recover.

"Please," I whimper, "please don't make me do it."

That was the edge. No more words, just a face marred by fury. It was redder than I'd ever seen, jaw clenched. Suddenly, he raised his hand and slapped me across the face with the back side. There was not a a hint of remorse on his face. Nor satisfaction, his anger persisted. As did my tears. I ran back into my bedroom and slammed the door. I cried for hours, trying to come up with something to do. Calling the police wouldn't do any good. My father is a Beale, he's practically above the law. I couldn't burden Aubrey with this information. With no other option, I called my brother Jacob.

"Hello?"

"J-J-Jacob?"

"Chloe? Are you ok?"

"D-d-dad, he h-hit me-e."

"Oh my God Chloe. Tell me what happened."

I told him the story down to the last detail. Every failed "relationship," the disappointment and anger he felt, my practically begging for freedom. He took it all in, voice growing more and more weary with each new bit of information. When I finished, he sighed, clearly understanding the depth of my pain.

"At least his fist was open when he hit _you_."

We never spoke of that again. Nor did my dad every set me up on dates. Don't kid yourself, it wasn't guilt. He didn't think I was good enough for them. It wasn't too long after that I made my pitch to attend college early. I think he just wanted me out of the house. He couldn't stand the sight of me. He couldn't do something as rash as publicly disowning me, that would be frowned upon. He had to make sure we maintained appearances. But I was no longer his little prodigy, I was his disappointment. He kept tabs on me, made sure I didn't do anything disgrace the family name. But he didn't care. Well, who knows if he ever did.

I never told Aubrey what happened. Or Beca. _Beca_. How was any of this fair to her? She's just as messed up as I am. She doesn't deserve this. Yet her she is, staring in shock as my father stands above us, that same vein throbbing, that same red tint glowing on his skin.

"You... you little... whore!" He shouted.

"Maybe I should give you two some space," Beca murmured.

"You will stay right where you are," he shouted forcefully, leaving Beca to slink back into her seat.

"Father I can explain."

"Explain? Explain what? That you've been running around with... with this woman? This low class whore not fit to clean our foyer? How dare you. How dare you!"

"Father please-"

"Don't you dare interrupt me, Chloe. I spent years teaching you, training you. I tried to mold you into the kind of woman fit to wear the Beale name. And THIS is how you repay me? You are a disgrace Chloe Beale, an absolute disgrace."

* * *

Beca's POV

"You are a disgrace Chloe Beale, an absolute disgrace."

That's where I lost my temper.

"She is a disgrace? How dare you!"

"Tread carefully, _girl_, you don't know who you're speaking to."

"And quite frankly, I don't fucking care," I retort, "do you have any idea what you've done to her. Your own daughter?"

Chloe's look is of complete shock, she is unable to join in.

"You have traumatized her to the point where she has spent most of her life miserable and alone. You've tortured her into believing she had to live her life by your orders without the slightest bit of concern for her own dreams. Do you even know what your daughter wants to do with her life? The person she wishes she could be?"

"That's none of my concern," he spat.

"It damn well should be! Chloe is not your plaything. She is not your robot, your protege, your servant or your worker. She is your daughter, and you have treated her like absolute shit for her entire life."

"Oh I've mistreated her have I? I offered her the world on a silver platter and she responded with whimpers and tears. She is weak. She is not fit for greatness, she is not fit to be my daughter, she is not even fit to be a Beale."

"Who fucking cares!" His eyes are now roughly the size of dinner plates, "if you knew anything about your daughter you'd know she's been happier over the last two months with me than she ever was with you. Chloe has real emotions and feelings, and she's the best person I've ever known. You were sitting on a winning lottery ticket with this girl and you tore it in half and threw it into the wind. Now you're going to spend the rest of your life miserable and alone because you can't possibly accept that Chloe has found happiness outside of your very narrow definition of how she should live her life. Well you know what? Chloe is an adult. She doesn't have to listen to you anymore. She doesn't owe you a damn thing, and if she wants to be in a relationship with me, any other woman, or even a fucking dog for all I care, she has every right to do it. Now get the hell out of this apartment before I do something that'll get me arrested."

His eyes focused in on mine as I refuse to back down. After a moment, he relents.

"This isn't over, girl," he declared, "not by a long shot."

With that he turned around and stormed out of the room. I turn back to Chloe, initially planning on some sarcastic remark. The look on her face tells me she isn't in the mood.

"Are you ok?" I ask.

"You shouldn't have done that," she practically whispers.

What? I would have assumed that would at least earn me a thank you. I mean, I did just kind of school her dad.

"What? Why?"

"You... you don't know who he is, or what he'll do."

"Chloe don't be ridiculous, I wasn't just gonna let him talk to you that way."

"Beca this isn't your battle."

"Yes, Chloe, it is. When someone insults my girlfriend I'm not going to just sit back and do nothing."

"Beca you don't have to fight my battles for me!" she nearly shouts.

"Chloe I was just trying to help you."

"Well don't! Not with this! He's my father, I can deal with him myself. I don't want you to talk to him, I don't want you going near him! My father is dangerous, the last thing I want you doing is putting yourself between me and him."

"What do you want me to do Chloe? What is this really about? Are you ashamed of me?"

"No Beca I just don't want you tampering with things you don't understand!"

"Then explain it to me Chloe! Talk to me!"

"God Beca, just stop! You don't have to protect me, I can take care of myself! Who are you to protect anyone anyway Ms. 'I just spent three months doing nothing but drinking and watching TV.' I'm an adult, I can take care of myself."

"I don't have to take this you know," I shout, "I was just trying to help you."

"I don't need your help Beca! God, just leave me alone!"

"Fine, just don't expect me to wait around for you to wake the fuck up and realize what you've done."

I storm out, slamming the door behind me. I'm desperate not to show her how much I'm hurting. Hell, I'm desperate not to show myself. I drive around aimlessly for several hours. I'm not quite sure where I'm going, I just need to get my mind off of things. Eventually I end up outside of my dad's house. Without really thinking, I knock on the door.

"Beca?" He says, rubbing his eyes, "do you know what time it is?"

I try to speak, but words don't come out. Instead, my eyes well up. I throw my arms around him and sob.

"Dad," I barely manage to muster.

"Why don't you come in," he attempts to comfort. I nod, and he leads me to the couch. He warmly rubs my back with his hand, trying to make me feel safer.

"So what happened?"

"Chloe," I once again struggle.

"Did you guys break up?"

"We had a fight," I manage to somewhat compose myself.

"About what?"

"Her dad came and saw us kissing. They have... issues. He started to yell at her and I jumped in and stood up for her. Then she got mad at me for doing it."

"She got mad at you for standing up for her?"

"Yea. She said I was tampering with things I didn't understand."

"There's more to this isn't there."

"I... I think she's ashamed of me."

"Why would you say that?"

"It's just... it's her dad. I mean, if you barged in on me with someone and went insane, and then that girl stood up for me and I freaked out, you'd think that right? It just... it made me feel like she didn't think I was good enough."

"I guess can see that."

"I mean... she has to know I have issues with this right? I mean... she was my therapist."

"I know what you mean. It's part of the reason your mother and I broke up."

"Dad you broke up because you had an affair."

"Well... yea... that's obviously the crux of it. But what led to it is really why we had to split up. After awhile we just sort of stopped being attuned to each other's needs. We stopped caring about what was best for each other. Or you," he says, apologetically, "we were stupid, and rash, and just plain unhappy. We did a lot of things that we regretted, and we'll never be able to undo them. I wish I could change what happened Beca, I do. I can't, but that doesn't have to mean the same for you. If you really think you can't fix this, then do what you have to do, but don't give up without a fight."

"Dad I... I don't know if I can do it. I don't even know if she wants me back."

"Well... just think about it. I know you'll make the right decision."

* * *

Chloe's POV

I've taken the past few days off of work. It's not like I'm in any condition to work anyway. Between Beca and my dad I'm just... well... not in any position to be productive. Apparently, Aubrey has noticed. Otherwise, she wouldn't be knocking on my bedroom door.

"What do you want Aubrey?"

"You know what I want."

"And what makes you think I'll talk about it."

"Come on Chloe I'm really trying here. Where's Beca?"

"We had a fight. Can you just drop it?"

"No. Let's talk about this Chloe, you've been skipping work and you look terrible. I want to help you."

"My... my dad came."

"What?"

"He saw us kissing."

"Oh my god Chloe!"

"He yelled at us, he called me a whore and a disappointment and then Beca snapped at him."

"Shouldn't that be a good thing?"

"No! You know my dad, you don't stand up to him, you just take it and hope he doesn't take it too far."

"Come on Chloe you're being ridiculous, she was just trying to help."

"She shouldn't have though! She doesn't know him or what he'll do! And neither do you!"

"You think I don't know? Come on Chloe, you think I don't know damn well what he's done for you. I've seen how you get around him, I see how uncomfortable you are whenever he raises his voice or even moves a limb. He hit you, didn't he?"

"He..."

"Come on Chloe."

"He hit me."

"So don't you think that might have something to do with why you didn't want Beca arguing with him?"

I'm not dealing with this now.

"So what if it is! Just leave me alone Aubrey!"

She somewhat doubtfully stands up and walks towards the door.

"Just think about what you're doing here, Chloe. Don't lose her over this."

With that, I get up and slam the door behind her.

* * *

Beca's POV

I don't know quite when exactly I started running when things got tough. As a therapist, Chloe would blame my dad. She would point to my failure in LA as proof that I'm terrified of things going south. Well you know what? It ultimately doesn't matter why I do the the things that I do. She came so close to fixing me. But she didn't. At at the end of the day I'm still Beca Mitchell, and when things get difficult Beca Mitchell cuts bait. So even though I know what I'm doing right now is wrong, I just don't particularly care.

"Luke?" I say over the phone.

"Beca! Happy to hear from you, so have you thought about my offer?"

"Yea. I'm ready to talk about moving to LA."

* * *

Chloe's POV

I'm going to work today. I need the distraction. I've got a decent amount of goodwill built up, I can afford an off day. I'm careful not to listen to Beca's station on the way. That's the last thing I need right now. When I get to the office, Dr. Phillips is in the waiting room chatting with Stacie at the reception desk. His look when he sees me is less than warm.

"Chloe? What are you doing here?"

"I'm just here to work."

"I thought you'd gotten the letter. You haven't been to work recently."

"What? What letter?"

"Hang on, Stacie you have a copy here don't you?"

"Yea hang on," Stacie reaches into her desk and pulls out a neatly folded letter and hands it to me."

"_Dr. Chloe Beale_

_It has been brought to our attention that you have developed an inappropriate sexual relationship with a patient. It is the decision of this board that you be suspended pending the results of an investigation. Enclosed, you will find the date and information of your hearing in front of the Georgia State Medical Board. At which point, you will be offered the opportunity to defend yourself, and if found guilty the board will issue an appropriate punishment which may include the permanent revocation of your license to practice medicine._

_- Office of Professional Medical Conduct, Georgia State._"

* * *

**IN THIS CHAPTER THERE IS MENTION OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE. IT IS LIGHT, BUT IT IS THERE.**


	12. Chapter 12

**TRIGGER WARNING: Beca's first monologue gets pretty dark, and there is mention of suicide (though never very seriously). This is just to be safe, this is a light warning, but it's here nonetheless. **

**This is the climax and the ending of the story. I thought about splitting this chapter into two parts, because there's a pretty good cliffhanger, but it's too far in and I didn't want to stretch this unnecessarily. There will be an epilogue to and I'll also throw in a preview of my next story because you were all a part of picking it. Thank you all so much for reading this story and for supporting it from start to finish. It may not be as fluffy or nice as other things I've written, but in terms of quality I think it's the best. I really feel like I've grown a ton as a writer by writing this, and none of that would have been possible without you. I hope the ending does this story justice. Enjoy!**

* * *

Chloe's POV

Why does life suck? That's not a rhetorical question, I'm looking for an actual answer. I swear, it's like God is looking down at me and laughing. I can take having a shitty dad. I get that, there are plenty of them. And potentially losing my job? Whatever, it's a horrible economy, people are going to lose their jobs. Besides, no matter how vain I might sound, I am a genius. Stick me in any field and I'd be a star. My talent is a curse, really, but it's there when I need it. None of these things are what really bother me. I just can't help but feel cheated.

In spite of all of these things, I actually found someone dumb enough to love me. I mean... really? Me? Of course, it ends up being the great irony of my life. Despite overcoming my obstacles to find love it was those same obstacles that ended up destroying it. I hope you're having a nice big laugh over this, God. I can't see how you are, mom certainly wouldn't let you tamper with my life like that. Mom. The one person who could help me with all of this. Yet she's dead, and the man she left me with is the one who did this to me. It's a horrible thing to do, but I can't help but wonder how things would have gone if he would have been the one who died.

She'd scold me for thinking that. Hell, I'd scold myself if I were in any sort of position to do so. She loved him after all. Though I can't imagine why. Honestly I've asked Jacob about it. He seemed as perplexed as I am. He's a bit older than me. Old enough to have asker her himself. Naturally, I'm not satisfied with the answer she gave. Apparently it was some spiel about "seeing something in him that nobody else did." Bullshit. If nobody else sees it then why should she?

The irony here isn't lost on me. I love Beca when nobody else would. I see things in her that the world probably doesn't. Maybe that's not an accident. Maybe I'm subconsciously imitating my mom, living out her life because she didn't get to.

Or maybe I'm my dad in this scenario. After all, I'm just as unloveable as he is. That's the real irony in all of this. Years of hating him for what he has done to me have turned me into what I've always feared: him.

Maybe that's why I'm not chasing Beca. I've heard through back channels that she's leaving. I can't blame her after how I treated her. It's probably for the best. She'll be a big star like she always should've been. She'll find someone who deserves her, who won't push her away when she's trying to help. Or not, but really, being alone can't be any worse than being with me. I don't deserve to be loved. Nor does Beca deserve to be inflicted with my affections. It sucks, but hey, so does life.

* * *

Beca's POV.

I should be surprised by everything that's happened recently. Maybe angry. Definitely upset. I'm not content. Certainly not happy. But there's understanding. Acceptance. It's horrible to say, but I'm... at peace.

It's a grim peace. Certainly not a happy one. It's what I imagine death feels like. No emotion, no light, no color, no music. It's just... emptiness. It's the sensation that though I'm alive, I'm definitely not living.

But I'm not crying. I'm not hurting myself. I'm not holding a pistol and wondering whether or not I should use it. That's what you would do when you're depressed. I'm well past the point of depression.

See, depression is a disease. Diseases can be cured. When you're depressed, it seems horrible, I know, I've been there. In fact, it actually is. You're swallowed up by the darkness of your own heart. But even if you can't see the light, you know it's there. Even if you have to scrape and claw and fight through the shadows, even if you never reach it, you know that it's there. You want to fix it, you want to go back in time and change the way you lived your life. You want to tell someone that you loved them or throw yourself in front of the bullet that took them away from you. It doesn't matter how or why you're in that position, you just know that there is a how or a why. A how or a why that you're desperate to fix, even if it's not possible.

But me? I'm not depressed. I've gone through the stages of grief and come to accept my fate. My life is a self fulfilling prophecy, one that I've finally realized cannot be changed. When I love someone, they get hurt. As a direct function of their relationship with me. I'm poison, and you know what? I'm ok with it. At least I know not to try now. I can let Chloe live in peace. The damage I've done to her, though obviously extensive, is reparable. Nobody can fix me.

So am I excited for a fresh start in Los Angeles? No, not in the slightest. I'm no longer capable of feeling excitement. Nor do I want to. I'm not going for me. I'm going for her. It's my gift to her. I can never take back the damage I've done. I can't stop myself from intruding on her relationship with her father or ruining her career (I didn't ask Jesse to tell me, but he's taken up the role of my unwanted emotional guardian). She'll get her fresh start when she convinces herself that I've left for mine.

* * *

Chloe's POV

I'm lying in bed. Awaiting tomorrow. It's not like I have anything better to do. Tomorrow I'm going to stand before a state tribunal and try to explain how my actions were not inappropriate. Good luck with that one, Chloe. I'd like to be left alone, to wallow in my own self pity, but apparently, Aubrey has other ideas as she knocks twice before coming in, not even waiting for a response.

"We need to talk to you."

"We?"

"Hi," Jesse says, somewhat uncomfortably as he walks in.

"What do you want?"

"We'd like to try to help you."

"Help me? With what? Beca? Don't you think that's a lost cause? Or work? Because that's definitely a lost cause."

"Chloe we could care less about your job right now," Aubrey attempts to say reassuringly, "you're miserable. We want to change that."

"By doing what exactly? It's not like Beca's waiting outside of that door with the hope of kissing me and making everything better. It's over. I've lost her, and I deserve this."

"Will you listen to yourself," Aubrey practically spat, "how is this fair to yourself? Or to her? You're not even gonna talk to her and try to sort this out? Doesn't _she_ deserve that?"

"No Aubrey," I retort, "she deserves someone who won't hurt her in the first place. And apparently she's caught on, she's the one who's leaving isn't she? Not me."

"Is that what this is about Chloe?" Jesse jumps in, "that she's leaving?"

"No, it just serves to prove my point. Beca is better off without me."

"Chloe, Beca is miserable," with that I perk up, "She's not leaving because she hates you. She's leaving because she thinks you hate her. Everything you're saying about yourself is exactly how she feels about herself right now."

I consider his words. For a moment, things seem like they make sense.

"She said that?"

"She didn't have to."

Then, reality sets in.

"If that's how I make her feel about herself," I say, "then maybe it's for the best that we're not together. I did this to her. The last thing she needs is me coming into the picture and making it worse."

"Chloe will you grow the fuck up!" Aubrey almost shrieks, "why are you making this so difficult?"

"You know damn well why," I protest.

"Chloe," Jesse says comfortingly, "let's pretend for a second, that all of this crap was behind us. Let's just say, hypothetically, that you and Beca could be together. That you could be happy, that you could be safe, and nothing would stand in your way. If that were possible, would that be something that you want?"

"More than anything in the world."

"Then you have to do something about it. Just talk to her, you can sort all of this out."

"No Jesse," I object, "we can't. No matter what happens, no matter what I say or do, I'm always just going to be the girl that hurt her. Your hypothetical situation, while tempting, isn't real. Please don't delude me into thinking that it could be, because it's not. I have no reason to believe that I'll ever be anything more than poison to her. Until I do, things have to stay exactly the way they are now. I can't do this to her, I can't force her to deal with everything that comes with me. All she wanted to do was help me, and I pushed her away. That's who I am Jesse. I'm the pain she should never have to feel. Unless you have some way to change that, please just leave me alone."

Jesse and Aubrey share a concerned look before granting my wish. I can tell this isn't over. They'll be back, or they'll talk to Beca. It's ok, it's not like they'll get anywhere. I know what I have to do, it's my gift to her.

* * *

Beca's POV

Jesse's driving me to the airport. I'm not particularly sure why I agreed to it. Sirius offered to send me a town car. With my new salary I could easily afford a cab. Hell, I could afford a whole fleet. Maybe I feel like I owe it to him. Lost in the shuffle of my relationship with Chloe was just how much damage I did to him. If this put me somewhere closer to paying back my debt to him, then so be it. Besides, He doesn't seem like he's in the mood to bother me. His look is solemn. He doesn't speak. He stops at my place, lets me in, and drives. In silence. Completely silence. There is no small talk. No grand speeches about how much he'll miss me. His head is somewhere else. Not that I'm complaining.

That doesn't mean I like seeing Jesse like this. He seems worried. I don't know what he has to worry him. After all, the biggest thing he has to worry about is getting on a plane and leaving in two hours. He should be celebrating. Scratch that, he should be looking at the printed out MapQuest sheet in front of him, because he obviously has no idea how to get to the airport. He has passed several opportunities to get to the highway. Maybe he's trying to drag this out. Maybe he really will miss me.

Of course, my confusion grows when he pulls into the parking lot of a rather large, official looking building.

"Where are we?" I ask.

"Some state building," he responds, "I'm not sure what it's called. I just know this is where we have to be."

"Jesse planes don't fly out of state buildings," I attempt to joke. He's clearly not interested.

"You're not getting on a plane."

"Excuse me?"

"In that building, in hearing hall 7-E, Chloe Beale is currently being interrogated about her relationship with you."

"Jesse that isn't funny."

"It's not a joke. She's in there right now, alone, probably scared, definitely miserable. You're going to go in there and make it right."

"I am, am I?" I argue, "by doing what exactly? Telling her I love her? Yea, that'll go over great with the people who are accusing her of loving me. Real smart plan Jesse, you sure know how to get a girl fired."

"Beca this isn't a joke!" He snaps, "this is your life! This is her life! You think she cares about saving her job? That doesn't matter to her. Nothing matters to her, nothing except for you."

"Which is exactly why I can't go in there!" I practically cry, "you know what happens if I go in there? She gets hurt. In some way or another, her heart gets broken. I've accepted that, and that's why I'm leaving. Why can't you."

His anger is visible. The vein is throbbing, his face is red. Without warning, his arm is raised and in one quick motion he slaps me across the face with all of the force he can muster.

"Dude, I'm a chick, you can't just hit me like that!"

"LOOK AT YOURSELF!" He shouts, "LOOK AT THE PERSON YOU'RE SO DESPERATELY TRYING TO BE! YOU WANT TO HELP HER BY LEAVING, YET YOU DON'T EVEN DO HER THE COURTESY OF TELLING HER THAT? HOW DO YOU THINK SHE FEELS BECA?"

I'm silent.

"You know why she hasn't come to you? Because she feels exactly the same way you do about herself. She thinks all she's going to do is hurt you, she thinks she's bad for you. Well you know what? I've seen you with her and I've seen you without her and you're a hell of a lot better with her. According to Aubrey, so is she. If you really wanted to help her you'd run inside of that building and tell her what a lie that is. But no, the moment things get tough you turn back into old Beca and run. You don't even think to fight for her. You know what you are Beca? You're selfish."

"Selfish! Jesse I'm doing this for-"

"Yea, yea, you're doing this for her. Save it. You're not doing anything for her. You're doing this because you're afraid. You know what you should be doing for her? She's standing trial right now for something that heavily involves you. If you play your cards right, you can fix all of this. You can help her much more by doing that then by running away to Los Angeles. But that's the hard thing to do. That requires digging inside of yourself and finding the strength to do what's right instead of what's easy. And that's the strength you apparently don't have. So what's it gonna be Beca? Are you gonna help her, or are you gonna help yourself?"

I stay silent.

"I thought as much," he mutters, "enjoy LA."

"Wait," I whimper.

"What? Do you have something to say?"

"I'll do it."

"You will?"

"Yea. I will. I don't know what exactly I'm gonna do, but I'll do it. She deserves the truth. She deserves what little I _can_ do for her."

"Good. Now go get your girl Beca Mitchell."

* * *

Chloe's POV

"Dr. Chloe Beale, you stand accused of initiating and maintaining an inappropriate sexual relationship with a patient, Rebecca Mitchell. Before we discuss the findings of our investigation, we'd like to ask you a few questions on the matter."

"Ok."

"When did you and Ms. Mitchell first meet?"

"It was in the middle of February, I believe."

"Could you please describe the circumstances surrounding Ms. Mitchell's decision to seek your care?"

"Beca didn't choose to see a therapist," I say, feeling as if I'm betraying her by relaying such information, "it was an ultimatum brought upon by her father. She didn't have a choice"

"And why was such an ultimatum placed?"

"Because she was unemployed and he was paying her bills."

"I see, at any point between today and when you met Ms. Mitchell, did she ever communicate with you a desire to stop seeking your care?"

"Yes, but only briefly."

"Would you please describe that for us?"

"I had given her my personal phone number to use in case of emergencies."

"Did you believe she presented a clear and imminent danger to herself or others?"

"No."

"Then why did offer her that information?"

"Because she was going through a difficult time and I thought she might need my help outside of my office hours."

"Do you understand how highly unorthodox that is?"

"Yes I do."

"Yet you chose to do it anyway?"

"Yes I did."

"What was Ms. Mitchell going through that you decided was important enough to give away such personal information?"

"I'm sorry, but based on my professional relationship with Beca I can't tell you. I will not break the doctor-patient privilege."

"Very well, Dr. Beale, but please be aware that any information you choose not to divulge to this tribunal will only serve to damage your credibility and hurt your cause. Tread carefully."

"I understand, and I respectfully choose not to tell you."

"Will you continue with why she decided to stop seeking your service?"

"She had engaged in sexual intercourse with an ex-boyfriend under tenuous circumstances. She immediately regretted it and, under the heavy influence of alcohol. She initially called as she was leaving his house, but as I was otherwise occupied I did not see it until later that night. When I did, I called her and discovered the state she was in. At which time, I felt it was my duty as a doctor and as a citizen to pick her up and make sure she got home safely."

"You picked her up because she was drunk?"

"Yes I did."

"Did she ask you to?"

"Not directly."

"So it was your idea?"

"Yes it was."

"What happened after that?"

"I took her home and, in her drunkenness, she said some things she didn't mean."

"Such as?"

"Specifically, that she wished her ex-boyfriend was more like me and that I was amazing."

"Did this strike you as inappropriate at the time?"

"Yes, which is why I left immediately after putting her in bed. She must have thought it was awkward at first, which is why she initially decided to stop seeking my service, but eventually changed her mind in time for out next meeting."

"I see. We also have here a series of performance evaluations from your office. Would you care to offer an explanation for why your job performance rose so dramatically immediately after Ms. Mitchell starting seeing you?"

"I do not have a logical explanation," I lie, "I believe I did very good work with Beca, which in turn might have motivated me more with other patients, but that is just conjecture."

"That seems like a logical and well planned excuse Dr. Beale."

"I cannot control how things seem to you, sir."

"We also have here a specific review left by Ms. Mitchell about you. Have you heard this review?"

"Yes."

"Good, so I will not have to bore you or this tribunal with the details. Needless to say though, it seems awfully suspicious."

"Beca's emotional state improved greatly in our time together. I do not see it as a surprise."

"Perhaps not, but we have done some research. At no point in the past several months have Beca Mitchell publicly been seen with, or made it known in any way that she was in a romantic relationship. Yet in her evaluation she mentions meeting the love of her life. Curious don't you think?"

"Perhaps."

"In addition, we have written testimony from your father, a Mr. Robert Beale. It is quite long, so we don't have to go through the entire thing, but there is one specifically damning passage that must be emphasize. It is as follows: "On the night in question, I witnessed my daughter, Dr. Chloe Beale, kissing the woman in question, Rebecca Mitchell, passionately and with clear intention to continue. Upon hearing my objections Ms. Mitchell argued vehemently against my right to voice them and demanded that I leave." Needless to say, this is fairly clear. We cannot imagine another motive your father might have for bringing all of this to our attention were it not true."

"You'd be surprised," I mutter. It's over. I've lost.

"Dr. Beale, do you have anything left to say for yourself?"

"No."

"Dr. Beale, did you have sexual relations with Rebecca Mitchell?"

"Yes I did."

"Did you have sexual relations with Rebecca Mitchell on a continuing basis?"

"Yes I did."

"Are you, or were you ever, in a committed romantic relationship with Rebecca Mitchell?"

"Yes I was."

"Then Ms. Beale, this tribunal has no choice but to find you-"

"Wait!"

Everyone's eyes dart to the back of the room, where Beca has just entered through the two large doors. She's here. Why is she here? She's supposed to be leaving today. She's doing exactly what she tried to do before. She's here to try to help me. She can't help me, though. Nobody can. And now she's once again putting herself in the middle of something she doesn't understand. All that can happen here is her getting hurt. It's so noble, so selfless. It's exactly why I love her. It's exactly why I can't bring myself to let her love me back.

"Who are you?" One of the men asks.

"Beca Mitchell."

"Ms. Mitchell your presence here is neither required, nor is it welcome."

"Please, I just want to testify on Dr. Beale's behalf."

"This is highly irregular."

"Please, I have information that you need to hear in order to make a fair judgement."

"Very well, Ms. Mitchell, you have the floor."

"Chloe didn't do anything wrong," she begins to the surprise of everyone in the room, "she's the reason I'm here today. She's pretty much the reason I'm still alive today. Without her... I don't even know what I'd be. Before I met her, I was an unemployable alcoholic with daddy issues, mommy issues, everything issues. I was the kind of person people make fun of on TV. I was nothing. Then I met Chloe and she made everything better. She made me feel like I mattered, like I wasn't just some emotionless blob wasting space on this planet."

And suddenly, with each word, I begin to see our relationship more clearly than I ever had.

"The truth is, I've made millions of mistakes in my life. I've hurt a lot of people, and now I just want to make it right. I can't let you punish Chloe because of me. She deserves so much better than that. She is so much better than that. For everything she's done for me, she at least deserves an attempt on my part to make all of this right. So please, don't punish Chloe because of me."

For the first time in days. Weeks, months. Maybe ever, it all makes sense. What makes our relationship work is that... as horrible as it is to say... we're both broken. We're both horribly messed up people desperately clinging to that part of ourselves we've come to know and accept as who we are. But when we're together, that's not who have to be. When we're together, I help her. And she helps me. We may think that we're bad for each other because we've always been so bad to ourselves, but we're not. We need each other. The fact that we are both so broken is what makes us able to complete each other. I need her, and she needs me. My mind jumps back to that horrible day in college. That conversation with Aubrey, and she was right. It took someone as broken as I was to finally fix me.

"A very touching sentiment Ms. Mitchell, but we are not here to discuss the feelings you and Ms. Beale have for each other. We are here to discuss the inappropriate nature of your relationship, of which you have offered no evidence to sway our judgement. As far as this tribunal is concerned, Ms. Beale took advantage of the nature of your relationship and for that reason, she cannot be allowed to practice medicine."

My heart sinks for a moment. It stings, to actually hear it.

"Chloe didn't do anything inappropriate. I take full responsibility for any and all aspects of our relationship."

"What?" He asks.

"What?" I repeat.

"Chloe didn't have a choice," she states, firmly, "I forced her into all of this. We started getting close, at least from a therapist-patient standpoint. She gave me her number because I was questioning my sexuality and she thought I might need help. One night, when she picked me up and took me home, I tried to kiss her and she rejected me. From there, she asked that I stopped seeing her, but I refused. I threatened her, I told her if she did not sleep with me I would commit suicide. She, being the professional that she is, did it. I told her that we were going to keep doing it, and that if she ever told anybody about it that I would kill myself. She didn't have any other choice, she was trying to save my life."

What the hell is she doing?

"Dr. Beale is this true?"

"No! Of course it isn't."

"She's denying it!" Beca retorts, "because that's how much she cares about the well being of her patients. She thinks that if the truth comes out I won't be able to handle it, and maybe she's right. She won't tell you, but it's the truth."

"Stop this! Please! Beca stop!" I shout.

"Enough!" The leading interrogator slams a gavel against the desk, "bailiff, please remove Ms. Mitchell from this court room and see that she be escorted to a state mental health facility until such time that an investigation can be performed."

The large, strong man in the police uniform then took hold of Beca's shoulders and walked her out, with no resistance on her part.

"Please! Stop! She's lying! Don't let her do this!" I shriek.

"Settle down! Dr. Beale, this tribunal hereby revokes your suspension until this matter is sorted out. You are free to practice medicine again in the state of Georgia."

"Where are they taking her?" I can barely contain myself.

"Most likely to Hillburg asylum, where she will be kept on suicide watch until she is deemed healthy enough to be released."

"Then that's where I'm going."

"Dr. Beale this does not bode well for your case."

"I don't care! She's lying! I'll bring her back here to admit it! Strip me of my license if you must, I don't care. Just don't do this to her!"

With that, I storm out, intent on meeting Beca at the asylum.

* * *

Beca's POV

This is a new kind of peace. A more content version. I really did help Chloe. I can live with that. Even if we never fix things, even if I never see her again, I can die peacefully knowing that I did what was right for her.

And besides, asylums aren't that bad. It's nothing like the movies portray them as. I'm not in a padded room, it's more of an upgraded jail cell. People are watching me, but that's no real bother. I don't have anything to do. To be fair, I've only been here for a few hours. I say my lines for the therapist on hand, I know this is going to be a process. It's not like I have anywhere else I want to be, I have a singular goal, and that is making sure Chloe doesn't lose her job. If nothing else, I can make sure I did something for her.

And apparently, I have a visitor. At this hour? You'd think that wouldn't be allowed. That was my assumption anyway. Whatever, I'll manage. I can't say I'm surprised when I see that it's Chloe, but it's not exactly what I would have hoped for.

"What are you doing here?" I ask.

"We both know the answer to that."

"How did you even get in? I assume visiting hours are over."

"You'd be surprised what hours of pleading, bribing and confessions of love can do."

"You probably shouldn't be confessing your love for a nut job like me."

"We both know you're not a nut job Beca," she says warmly, "which begs the question, why are you so set on convincing them that you are?"

"Because if I can do that they'll let you keep your job."

"That's what this is about?"

"Yes and no."

"So explain the no."

"I'm bad for you Chloe," I confess, "I see that now. I get in your way, you're destined for greatness and all I do is hold you back. I interfere where I'm not wanted, I'm rash, I'm angry, I'm selfish. I know that about myself, and I think I'm ok with it. But not when it comes to you. I meant what I said in that courtroom. You deserve more than suffering for my mistakes. You deserve the chance to live your life without me. So I thought, for once in my life, I could help you. I could do something for you so that when you're off saving the world one smile at a time, I could sit calmly in my cell at peace with myself. I did it so that in my darkest hours I would know that at least you got a fair chance to live your life. For all of the damage I've done, I could at least do some small bit of good to try to make up for it. I wanted to help you, and that's what I've done."

"I'm quitting my job," she says to my shock, "if they'll even have me back after the scene I caused in the courtroom after you left."

"Why would you do that?"

"Because it doesn't matter to me anymore."

"Chloe-"

"No Beca," she sternly interjects, "you've said your piece, both here and in the courtroom. Now it's my turn to say mine."

I nod begrudgingly.

"You think you're bad for me? You're wrong. You said it yourself, you're selfish, you're rash, you're angry. None of that is true, but I know you think that it is, so I'll play along. Even if it is, you said that it isn't when it comes to me. I mean, look at what you did for me today. For God's sake you're in a _mental hospital_ Beca," she says, jokingly emphasized. If nothing else, she has my attention. Maybe this really is what she wants. And what she needs. And if it is, one look with those perfect blue eyes will be all it takes to get me to obey.

"Anyone who loves me enough to do something like that can't be as selfish as she thinks she is. That's all that matters. All of that outside crap is meaningless. The only things I care about are you and me. Sure you'll make mistakes. So will I, hell, I'll probably make more. You're not perfect, and neither am I. That's what makes us so perfect for each other. We'll stumble, we'll fall, but we'll always get back up. As long as I have you, nothing else matters. So you really want to do something for me? Then shut up and kiss me."

Without a moment's hesitation, I oblige, meeting her lips with as much passion as I can muster. She's right. As long as I love her, I can be the person she deserves. We can be happy, and we can be together. And whether that means getting me out of a mental hospital or just maintaining a healthy relationship, I know that we'll be able to do it as long as we have each other.


	13. Epilogue

**Here's the epilogue. It's all fluff, but I think it's fluff that needs to be done. There's been enough angst here. Anyway, there's gonna be a preview to the next story in the next chapter, but I'll take it down once I think everyone has seen it because it really isn't part of this story, I just thought that since I gave you guys space to offer suggestions you should get a bit of a teaser of where I'm going. That will be started after **_**Forgetting Beca Mitchell**_** finishes (which, though I hate to plug myself anymore than I already do, you should totally read). Anyway, here it is, enjoy!**

* * *

Beca's POV

Is it easy being with Chloe? That's kind of a loaded question. It takes effort being with her. It takes work. She forces me to do things I'd never otherwise do.

Take our wedding, for example. The proposal was... awkward. To say the least. I'd spent months planning it. The perfect restaurant, the perfect atmosphere, the perfect music. Everything was planned to the finest detail. And when I got on one knee to pop the question, there are no tears. There's not even a "yes." She just laughs, hysterically. In that moment I'm about as hurt as I've ever been. She knows how self conscious I am, even after the years she'd spent reassuring me of her love. After a few moments, she realizes my confusion and jumps in.

"No, no, Beca, this isn't what you think," she says through the laughs.

"Then what is it?"

"Hang on a second," she says, pawing through her purse to pull out a little black box, "I was saving this for when we got home."

I'm dumbfounded as I stare at the ring in front of me. Figures this would be how it happened.

"You... you were gonna propose to me?"

"Well at least now I don't have to worry about you saying yes."

There are so many words that old, sarcastic Beca would say. The new Beca settles for only three.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"And for future reference, when trying to reassure someone who just proposed to you, don't start with 'no, no.'"

"I'll be sure to fix that with my second wife."

"Not helping."

I assumed Chloe wouldn't want a big church wedding. There were too many scars. We've lost contact with her family. Her dad died six months after the mental hospital episode (which, by the way, lasted all of 45 more minutes after Chloe's arrival, that girl really can do anything). Apparently it was a heart attack. Or a stroke, who knows. We didn't bother attending the funeral. She didn't want to "give him the satisfaction." Her brothers have just sort of fallen off of the radar. We talk to them every once in a while. And when I say we, I mean she. I'm not entirely sure they know we're together. We see them on TV every now and then. The pundits think Jacob has a shot to be president one day, and Blair looks like a future Hall of Famer in the NFL.

Our lives aren't quite as glamorous, and that's ok. I've been offered more high profile work a few times. I'm happy, Chloe's happy, and that's all that matters. We like being in Atlanta. We like being around Jesse and Aubrey. And yes, we even like being around my dad, who has become a much more permanent fixture in my life than I ever could have imagined.

And Chloe's mom? We don't talk about her. I've heard bits and pieces, but I can always tell Chloe is holding something back. It's ok, she's offered to delve more deeply into it, but I decline. It'll happen when the moment's right. It's not a matter of keeping secrets, it's a matter of knowing which secrets should be kept.

She wanted to elope. Who was I to deny her that? Sure there were a few disappointed friends. Amy tore me a new one on the air. But Chloe thought it was cliché. After all, it was our wedding. She wanted it to be just for us.

We didn't wear white dresses, nor were there elegant floral arrangements or even a band. We stood on the beach in Barbados at sunset with only a privately hired minister to perform the ceremony. It was short and sweet, our vows were done beforehand. Ah, the vows. The kind of thing only Chloe could come up with.

First of all, it was a very intentional decision to do our vows before the wedding. We found a secluded area, a nice spot overlooking a waterfall. We made sure we were alone, because according to Chloe, our vows are "promises that we make to each other. Not to our friends, not to our families, not to the minister, not to strangers, not to God, to each other. And only each other." It's a romantic sentiment, one that I can definitely get behind. Where it got tricky, though, was what Chloe wanted from the vows. Specifically in how they were to be performed. I'm serious, _performed_.

Chloe didn't want words. She wanted music. As the very foundation of our relationship, she argued, it would be appropriate to sing our vows to each other. We each had to find a song that reminded us of the other. A process that, to this day, I doubt I'd be able to replicate. There were more than a few moments during the stretch leading up to our wedding that I just wished I had a normal fiancé.

But then she wouldn't be Chloe. So I spent hours pouring over it. Every mix I've ever made, every song that has ever graced the top 40, every bit of music I could get my hands on. Chloe, being Chloe, has one picked out from the start. Of course she does. After what felt like eons of contemplation, reflection, frustration and consternation, I finally find the one song that I deem worthy of Chloe.

She goes first. It's beautiful, it's perfect, it's Chloe. It's the first song we ever sang together. It's Titanium. And really, it's appropriate.

"Beca, this how you make me feel. When the world is crumbling around me, you are my constant. When people try to hurt me, you're me shield. You make me bulletproof. The world can shoot at me, but I won't fall, because I am titanium. All because of you. I love you."

I wouldn't expect anything less from Chloe. It's perfect down to the last word. So when my turn comes, I reach back into the same well. She chose the first song I ever sang to her. She sang with me, true, but that wasn't the first song she ever sang to me. That came later, albeit not by much. That is the song I chose.

Again, it's appropriate, because the smile on her face as I sang really could make the whole world stop and stare for a while. I look into her eyes and tell her that she's amazing, "just the way you are."

"This song has a double meaning for me. Everything I just sang to you, I meant. You're insecure, but you shouldn't be. You're damaged, but I will spend every day of the rest of our lives trying to fix you. Even if you don't always see it yourself, you're amazing, just the way you are."

The tears in her eyes bring a few to mine.

"But just as importantly, I know you feel the same way about me," I confess through the tears, "the way you look at me when I smile, how you tell me I'm beautiful even when I don't see it myself, you make me feel like you really do love me, just the way I am. So really, I think it just goes to show that no mater how messed up we are, it won't ever matter, because we'll always love each other, just the way we are."

Her lips crash into mine as soon as I finish. It's really about as perfect as a moment can get. When I think about my wedding 50 years from now, I won't care about saying "I do," or when I officially kissed the bride, I'll think about that moment.

"This is probably bad luck," I joke, "we're getting married in two hours."

"We crossed the bad luck line as soon as we woke up in each other's arms this morning Beca."

"True. I guess we've never really been for tradition."

"No, we really haven't."

So is it easy being with Chloe? No, it isn't. But nothing worth having ever is, and I wouldn't trade everything I get to do for her for anything in the world. Hell, it's why I'm making the 15 minute drive to Jerry's, a bar not too far from our house, like I do every night to watch her finish up at work. I take my usual spot at the bar as the beautiful redhead singer in the black dress finishes up her last song. It's not particularly glamorous, but like me, Chloe has been offered better work and turned it down.

We've settled into a comfortable routine, a comfortable life. She sings at bars and restaurants at night with the few bands she's gotten friendly with while I pretty much own KLPX's music department. We're not rich, but we get by. It's for the best. We have plenty of free time for each other, and she is happier and more fulfilled in her new job than she ever was before. It just suits her. At her core, what Chloe loves doing is making people happy, and entertaining them certainly fits the ball. Is it a traditional use of a medical degree? Absolutely not, but we get a few laughs out of it. So do her patrons, who often leave generous tips while asking for unofficial medical tips.

She spots me the moment she finishes her set and her face forms into one those classic, one of a kind Chloe smiles. The kind only she could ever make, and only I could ever inspire. In other words, it's exactly what it is every night, and I wouldn't have it any other way. When we meet, I give her a quick peck on the lips.

"So how was your set tonight?"

"It went pretty well, I certainly can't complain."

"Well that's good, so how's little baby Mitchell feeling?" I ask moving my face down to her stomach.

"He's very happy to see his mommy."

"I'd be very happy if he sees his mommy too, that means he has X-ray vision. Our baby is going to be a superhero!"

We share a soft laugh as I plant a small kiss on Chloe's stomach before returning to her level. Well, almost, as she never fails to remind me of my diminutive stature.

"Ready to head home?"

"Lead the way."

So we leave, hand in hand, just as we do every night. I couldn't ask for anything more.

* * *

Chloe's POV

_"Are you feeling better today Mommy?"_

_"I am now that you're here baby."_

_I smile brightly. Mom has a way of making me do that even as she lies nearly motionless in her hospital bed._

_"Do you want me to sing for you?"_

_"I would love that Chloe."_

_"You are my sunshine,_

_My only sunshine."_

_Mom joins in as best she can. This is our song. The song she sings to me when I'm sick. The song she sings when I'm sad. It will always be our song._

_"You make me happy_

_When skies are grey_

_You'll never know dear_

_How much I love you_

_So please_

_Don't take my sunshine_

_Away."_

_"I love you baby, and all I ever want is for you to be happy. Don't ever forget that."_

_"I won't mommy."_

Suddenly, I shoot awake. I haven't had that dream in years. I guess I just haven't had the need. Mom sent me the dream when she thought I needed to have it. I haven't needed it since Beca and I got together. Nor do I need it today, which is why this is so concerning. The moment my foot hits the floor, Beca groggily begins to speak.

"Baby, what are you doing?"

"I... I just have somewhere I have to go."

"Chloe, it's 5:30 in the morning."

"I know... it's just... it's important."

"Ok, gimme a second I'll throw some clothes on."

"No honey it's ok, go back to sleep."

"Chloe at this hour I'm not leaving you alone."

"No really Beca, it's ok."

Without another word, she plops onto her back and shuts her eyes. I don't blame her, it's not like we've talked about this. I just kind of figured it was behind me.

The drive to the cemetery is more curious than somber. I'm not quite sure what mom wants. It's raining. It always rains when I do this, that's just how it works. The walk to her grave is slower than usual. I still remember where it is, but I haven't been here in awhile. I need to take in my surroundings and really remember where I'm going. When I get there, it's exactly as I left it all those years ago. It's abundantly clear that nobody has been here since. Not that I'm surprised, I guess that others just don't care as much. Maybe that's why I we're not very close any more.

"Hi mom," I stammer, "I'm... I'm not quite sure why I'm here. Maybe you just missed me. I definitely miss you. Just not as much. I know that that's horrible to say, but it just... it just doesn't hurt as badly anymore. I... I know that's what you would have wanted. What you want. Thing is... mom... I'm happy. I'm finally happy... just like you told me. I'm not a therapist anymore. I'm a singer, and I love it. I feel so free, and at peace with everything. I don't have to deal with dad anymore either. I hope you don't have to see him where you are, god, that would be so unfair if they stuck the two of you in the same place. I guess that would mean everyone gets a second chance, and I got mine. What it really came down to, though, was Beca."

I clear my throat, I know another monologue is coming.

"She... she changed everything mom. She makes me feel so alive and so loved and... and I couldn't be happier than I am with her. It's like what you said to me all of those years ago finally makes sense. I'm happy mom, and it's all because of her. And now we're starting a family. We're having a little baby boy, and he's due in around seven months. I can't wait to be a mother, and I know that Beca will be great with him. Maybe you sent her to me, to show me what life could be like with that special someone. I don't know, whatever brought us together, I couldn't be more thankful. I know you would love her, mom. And I'm pretty sure she'd love you to."

Suddenly I feel a cold hand on my shoulder.

"I think I already do."

"Beca?"

"Told you I wasn't leaving you alone."

I wrap her up in a hug. I don't care how she got here, or about the rain or that our clothes are probably ruined now. After all of these years, I finally don't have to be alone anymore. I finally have someone to come here with me. Maybe that's what mom was showing me with the dream. She wanted to show me that I'd never have to have it again.

"Do you have anything you want to say to her?"

"I can think of a few things."

"Well then, you have the floor."

"Hi Mrs. Beale. I'm Beca, the girl from the speech. I know that we never met, but I just wanted to tell you that whatever you did to make Chloe as perfect as she is now, thank you. I couldn't ask for a better wife, and based on what Chloe has told me I couldn't have asked for a better mother in law. I promise, I'll always take care of Chloe just like you would've, and we'll make you proud by raising the most awesome baby in the history of babies. And then we'll raise several more. We're gonna have a big, happy family, the kind I know you would've loved to see. Thank you everything Mrs. Beale, I don't know what I would do without your daughter."

I give Beca a quick peck on the cheek.

"That was beautiful."

"Not as beautiful as you."

"You're always on aren't you?"

"It's my gift. Now come on, it's pouring out here. Let's get you back in bed and back in my arms where you belong."

Without the slightest hesitation, I follow Beca's lead. She's right, we should go home so I can get back into bed. Back into her arms. Where I belong.


	14. Note

Just as an FYI, my next story is up and since you guys played a part in picking it I just wanted to be sure any followers knew. Sorry to clog the filters with this, I'll take it down tomorrow.


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